Fried chicken in moderation please

I debated even packing my running shoes into my gym bag for this morning. But I did, and when I got started I started a basic non-timed, non-distanced run on the tracker and gave myself permission to bail and go to the elliptical if anything was too hurty (hello, HIIT sore from yesterday). Then I surprised myself by hanging in there for a solid, if slowish, 3 miles in 37:30. So that was better than I expected.

In the evening, it was time for a short hip opener flow. I expected more of the little hip openers from yesterday, but it was NOT– it was lizard and pigeon. Consort settled into both without much of a problem. Me? I spent the time huffing and cussing. My hips are something I always have problems with. It built quite a bit of heat there, and we’ll see how sore I am tomorrow.

One of my husband’s Christmas presents from his folks was a deep fryer. (He asked for it specifically, despite me protesting “nooo where are we going to put it”.) Over the weekend he cooked fried chicken, and though it was tasty enough I found myself really grumpy after eating it. I sulked on the couch for a while, poked at all my feelings, and finally figured it out: I was concerned that he’d be so excited about the fryer that all he’d cook would be fried stuff and I’d have to either eat it or find something else to eat/do more of the cooking myself. I told him, embarrassed about being upset, and we had a laugh about it and he promised he’d use it only like once every three weeks.

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