runningfurtherfaster
In running, you can’t be a beggar. Never beg your legs to keep moving, never beg yourself to keep pushing forward. Because that implies that you don’t have control. Eventually you’ll have to beg your mind too. No don’t be a beggar, but instead be a commander. Command your legs to push, command your feet to keep going. Because you want this. And you’re going to make it happen.
fast-and-fit

thefrenemy:

Okay. I’ll admit it. I’m a basic bitch.

So what if I like the feel of hot, pumpkin spice coffee wrapped around my hands. Yeah, you like my nail polish? It’s Essie in “Take it Outside.” That’s taupe with pink undertones, motherfucker. I got bottles of em in 30 shades of gray, cranberry, wine, merlot, a different kind of cranberry. They are all puns. What of it? Don’t you like the beautiful nuances of the English language? The word trickery that this celestial landscape can paint?

Hold on, I’m going to Instagram my coffee. So what? I have great boots on. You can see the coffee cup and the boots at the same time. I think it’s an aesthetically pleasing picture and I want the people in my life to see it. Why do you fucking care? Why do you care that I like my coffee like I like Idris Elba: covered in artificial pumpkin and in my mouth?

And yeah, it’s fall and I’m happy about it. Fall is great. I like leaves and a slight chill. I happen to really enjoy jacket weather. I have a lot of great jackets. Sorrrrrrry I’m not sitting in a puddle of my own tears crying because summer is over and I can’t go eat a tomato corn dog or whatever.

Also sooo sorry I’m taking my hard-earned cash to go and buy a candle that smells like a MARSHMALLOW so I can have a MARSHMALLOW HOUSE and watch HOCUS POCUS IN IT. Oh! Sorry NOT SORRY. I thoroughly enjoy my marsh house and my tea with lemon and my comfy sweatshirts from V Secret.

Okay, you’re really gonna come at me because I like yoga pants? Do you know—do you know how COMFORTABLE yoga pants are? Putting them on is like being swaddled like a little baby, except as a baby you never noticed how good my ass looks in yoga pants. My ass looks absolutely incredible in yoga pants. And don’t get me started on my tummy fat—it’s like it’s not even there.

What’s it to you that I’m going to brunch? I happen to really enjoy eggs. I don’t care what you do with them. Put some goat cheese on that bitch if you nasty. Put some hollandaise sauce on there, too. Funnel me a mouthful of bloody mary’s and a spin class. It’s Sunday and I’m alive.

Yes, that’s almost a Lena Dunham quote.

Yes, I drink red wine. It has heart healthy benefits, you uncultured toad.

Yes, I listen to pop music and I’ve liked a few old pics of Marilyn Monroe because I respected her as a comedienne. Yes, I like truffles. Leave me alone! All kinds of truffles! Ground ones and Godiva ones! Leave me alone! I want to enjoy my shows and things without you hassling me! I’m not basic! I’m a real human being with varied emotions and complicated energy and all kinds of hobbies!

So come on, call me a basic bitch. Come at me, bro. I’ll be over here, enjoying my blowdried hair and puttin blueberry muffin recipes on pinterest.

You blueberryless motherfucker.