Review: Dizzy Shoes

A few weeks ago I received a pair of flats from Dizzy Shoes. I was contacted via email to do an honest review in exchange for product. When I first looked at the website, I was a little skeptical because Dizzy mostly sells sandals and it’s currently freezing here in the Boston area. Not the best weather for flip flops. Plus, I can’t wear open toed shoes at work, which is LISA-SMOKE_high_res__65337.1468003571where I basically live these days. After chatting with the PR contact that reached out to me, we determined the Lisa would probably be the best solution: closed toed and work appropriate.

I’m normally a 7.5, but I IMG_0873ordered a half of a size up because apparently they run a little small. I chose the black color to play it safe at work. They arrived a few days later and fit perfectly. They’re made of some kind of flexible plastic, kind of like the Jellies I wore as a 90’s kid – which totally sold them to me, hipster that I am. I didn’t expect them to be glittery, but it’s not obnoxious, so I wasn’t too worried about wearing them in the office. The tip of the shoe is a little pointed as well, which I feel makes them look a little fancier.

Since wearing them to work, I haven’t noticed tIMG_1040he glitter flaking off, they still fit perfectly, and I haven’t had any irritation or rubbing. I’ve also gotten a ton of compliments on them.The way in which the shoe is constructed, in a web of this jelly/plastic material (that kind of looks like silly string), allows for total breathability. My department at work puts on 85+ events a year, most of them in the sweltering summer weather, so my coworkers were super interested in a pair of shoes that allowed their feet to stay cool while remaining professional.

On the first day I wore my Dizzy Shoes at work, I got a ton of compliments via Snapchat when I posted to my story. It seems that I’m not alone in wanting a pair of comfortable flats that are cute and work appropriate. I love any type of clothing, shoes, or accessories that can go from home, to the office, to a nice restaurant after hours. The flexibility allows me to keep living the way I need to, without worrying about what I’m wearing.IMG_1041 copy

I’ve had my Lisa Dizzy Shoes under my desk for a few weeks now and I slip them on when I get into the office, depending on what my outfit calls for that day. The Lisa currently retails at $29.95 and comes in gold and silver, in addition to the black. If you’re looking for a pair of sandals for spring break or an upcoming vacation, Dizzy Shoes offer plenty of other options as well.

Happy shopping!




The Roses I Never Gave You

Guest blogger: Rebecca Lampert-Egan, also known as Mom

My husband and I were looking out the dining room window at the ice patches in the street at the end of the driveway when I saw them. It is winter here in New England so most of the landscape is deadened brown, evergreen, and bark black with snow white accents from the most recent storm.

The spots of red popped up from a grey weathered wooden platform where they laid. The platform is at the base of one of two very large pine trees on our property. A zip line between the two trees once carried kids flying across our side yard. The line is long broken but the platforms remain. They are now used by the grandchildren as forts in the woods or decks of a ship or houses on a prairie. This day, one was a canvas for color.

I was mid sentence, talking about the best walking route for this cold day, when my eyes focused on what was brightly standing out between me and the street asphalt. I squinted my eyes, not sure what I was seeing. I pulled back from leaning on the windowsill, turned to my husband and asked, “What are those?” His eyes followed my pointing hand.

“Oh, those are the roses I never gave you”, he flatly answered like it was obvious. His expression revealed nothing, as if it was a common thing to see roses lying around our yard.

I could feel my brow wrinkling before the next question was fully formed, “But why are they out there?” 

There were eleven, no, I counted twelve. There were a dozen red roses splayed across the wooden platform! They weren’t just tossed haphazardly either. They were placed approximately two inches or so apart from one another covering the wooden surface end to end. The line of red blossoms and green sticks alternated every few stems. It was actually quite beautiful. 

He explained that he had bought them the day of my birthday, snuck them in the house, and left them in the cool cellar sink along with some greens and baby’s breath. Since our neighbor closed his florist and garden shop, we have needed to find an alternative place to buy plants and flowers. I know where to go but apparently my husband did not and needed a suggestion. After questioning aloud at work, someone told him that the local grocery store carries flowers. Having gone there, he was now commenting that the selection was not what he had hoped. He made do with a few small sleeves picked from the various black buckets and figured he could arrange them attractively. Truth be told, he does have a knack for flower arranging. 

Since I never saw any of the said purchased greens and flowers, I pressed him further as to what happened to find some of them out in the yard and not part of the lovely bouquet he had given me.

Taking a moment, he cleared his throat, turned back to the window and mused, “I don’t know. Flowers are best in the morning. I just think they should be given at the start of a day, not at the end.” He continued to tell how he had come home from work the night of my birthday and was taking the roses out of the sink to trim and put into a vase for a morning presentation when our son, passing through the workshop to his game room, snickered at his father some cautionary comment. My husband inquired what that was all about. My son simply asked if he had been upstairs yet. He had not. “When you go up you will know”, my son replied with a judgmental tone. The flowers went back into the sink. My husband climbed the stairs.

For the first time that I can remember, I had received multiple flower deliveries on my birthday. Two were from friends and another from family. There were flowers in the kitchen, flowers in the bathroom, flowers in the study. Beautiful flowers, they were all different selections. He told me that when he came upstairs and saw the many aromatic arrangements, he felt sheepish about his grocery store bunches and realized he needed to rethink his plans for recognizing my birthday. And then he promptly forgot about the blooms in the basement. When he found them again days later, they were looking rather thirsty and limp but still colorful. Instead of just tossing them into the trash he thought the squirrels would enjoy nibbling on them. He rationalized that the cold air would keep them fresh for a little bit longer. I’m not sure if he expected me ever to see those roses. He would see them, though, every time he walked out of the cellar door to his vehicle in the driveway.

I went walking somewhere without ice patches after our conversation that day. Without worry about my terrain, I was able to reflect on those roses and why they got abandoned. I now understood how it was that the next day I was presented with a lovely bouquet of mixed flowers, a box of candy, and two wrapped gifts, exactly what I had requested. I demanded all these things to celebrate my day because I thought I needed them from him. I thought he needed some practice in going the long haul for me.

Maybe this is where I should mention that we had been doing a very uncomfortable dance for months, something about differing priorities; that we had been struggling through dinner conversations; that I was working at keeping an opposite schedule; that we were both being stubborn. My daughter had snapped a holiday picture of us and captioned it,”This is what love looks like.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that we were taking deep breaths and straining smiles to make it through some of those days.

Relationships sometimes require resetting and time can be a good salve. By the new year, we were helping each other out of a dark hole. We have done this before and we know where the steps are hiding. She was able to see clearly in black and white what was out of focus for us at the time. After years of working hard to stay happily together, we have a solid footing of trust and respect. But it is the necessary perseverance that I see in her photo.

My husband of over thirty years still wanted to impress me. I was touched by this fact. He had listened to my birthday list of requests, long and specific as it was, and tried to fill it, starting with roses and starting again the next day when he thought he had fallen short. He remembered I like dark chocolate, especially with fruit. The wrapped presents, both with colonial historical reference, were items he was interested in giving and I would be happy to use. 

Taking in the crisp air on my refreshing winter walk enabled me to review all this in my head. Through tears, I could see it clearly. I realized that while he was trying to deliver an English Garden, I would be happy with one flower. No dismissal, no drama, no delay; I needed to tell him right away. Once I made it back to the truck, I grabbed my phone from the console and texted him immediately.

“While I love my friends and family dearly, I hope you know that one rose from you means more to me than bunches of flowers from anyone else.” It was cliche’ but it was the truth. I needed to say it and he needed to hear it. He thanked me for sending it. The roses he never gave me will be by far my most memorable bouquet.

To read more of Rebecca’s work, visit her blog.

Women’s March: Boston

Amazing. The only word I can come up with to accurately describe the Women’s March in Boston.

Yesterday was by far one of the most inspiring days of my life. I stood in a sea of faces, of all different colors, ages, genders, and ethnicities, and felt completely in sync with the crowd.

There are not many times in your life when you stand in a crowd and know that you are welcome, understood, and supported regardless of any other factors other than that you are human and that you matter. Usually we feel it with our families. Sometimes we feel it in our religious houses, among our communities. Other times we feel it with friends, at college or on a sports team.

Yesterday I felt it in Boston Commons, along side 175,000 other people (according to Nicole Caravella, a spokeswoman for Mayor Martin J. Walsh, via the NY Times) that attended the Women’s March. This year has been tough and the next four years are going to be even harder, but after today I know that I am not alone.

Without standing on a soap box for too long, there is one thing I want to highlight: the attendees at yesterdays’s rally were the most polite and respectful crowd of pissed off people that I have ever had the pleasure of standing alongside. One second we were screaming and chanting, and in the next second the woman next to me is apologizing for bumping into me with her homemade sign and offering me some of her trail mix because she saw me rubbing my stomach. The quality of the people at the Women’s March brought tears to my eyes because while feeling scared and angry of our current political situation, we were still able to express gratitude, respect, and kindness to one another, even after hours and hours of waiting in a crowd with aching feet and barely any elbow room.

I hope the Women’s March becomes an annual event, regardless of who’s in office, because the love and acceptance I felt in the Boston Commons was inspirational and uplifting in a way that I have never experienced before.

Thank you to everyone who organized the Boston Women’s March, the police for providing security and support, and the 175,000 attendees that stood up for what they believe in by joining the rally. It was an experience of a lifetime.





Review: Lilly & Oak Handcrafted Goods

A few months ago, my friends and I were out for dinner when one of them pulled out a beautiful leather wallet that I immediately fell in love with.

“Where did you get that?” I demanded.

“Oh, this? I made it,” my friend said nonchalantly, holding up the wallet.

We all leaned in to look closer at the handmade, hand painted, real-leather wallet. And thus began my obsession with Lilly & Oak Handcrafted Goods, made by my good friend Kara. Within a few weeks I’d ordered Christmas presents for my sister-in-laws and a whole wallet set for myself.50406267193__866eec48-bf23-4652-9156-7fc09c502254

img_0275The wallets, card holders, clutches, and key rings all come in different adorable patterns. The patterns are all hand painted with leather paint so that there is no rubbing or bleeding. All products are 100% real-leather, made from either cow hide or lamb skin.

Based out of Dallas, Texas, Lilly & Oak can be found in a handful of small boutiques in that area. But for all of us out-of-staters, Lilly & Oak is available on Etsy for purchase. 

If you’re looking for a meaningful, one-of-a-kind gift for a friend or family member, Lilly & Oak is the perfect choice. So get shopping!

For more information and to stalk all the awesome products that Lilly & Oak has to offer, open your Instagram and follow @LillyandOak!



Dooms Day

Well today’s the day. Donald Trump becomes the 45th president of the United States (unless something insane happens between when I schedule this post and when it’s published – a girl can only hope).

To prepare myself for this day of doom, I ordered a few books from Amazon to learn a bit more about the next leader of the free world and prepare myself for the terror of the impending four years. And no, I don’t feel like I’m being dramatic.

Maybe you’ve already seen this book on Twitter or Facebook or BuzzFeed, but when I found it, I thought it was brilliant. Eye opening, actually. I feel like this books really speaks for itself. So I’ll just leave this right here:





I’m hoping to use these blank pages to write down the thoughts and feelings and questions and reactions that I have over the next four years. I hope Amazon keeps selling this book because based on Donald Trumps track record, I’m sure I’ll have a lot to write about.


2016 in Review

Okay. Here we go.

The year of 2016 was bizarre and uncomfortable and exciting and frustrating. Like a burrito from Chipotle – a questionable dinner choice with too many ingredients that’s both delicious and over-stimulating.

To reflect back on this horrible/amazing year, I have tapped into my social media posts to truly capture the emotions that I felt over the last 365 days and blindly shared with the public. Because nothing screams “personal feelings” like over two thousand collective followers reading 140 useless characters or looking at an iPhone photo with the Valencia filter.

As I went through some of my more salacious social media posts of 2016, I started noticing a few trends. I’ve always been rather outspoken, moderately liberal, and seriously feminist (hello household of all boys growing up). However, I noticed 2016 was my break through year in all categories. Opposing opinions be damned. 2016 broke down some barriers and taught a lot of tough lessons. And I feel confident entering 2017 fully comprehending that it’s time to stand up for what I believe in, vocally and physically, and comments that are racist, misogynistic, and prejudice don’t fly with me. I won’t laugh awkwardly or press my lips together to keep silent. Or roll over when evil and injustice win (hellooooo election).

Also, you’re all welcome. I haven’t posted a blog post for six months because all I wanted to write about was the election. But I felt there were enough useless opinions out there to clog the internet, mine would be better used in person to try and make sense of our current events and how I play a role in it all. So I did a lot of talking. And a lot of listening. And a lot of thinking. And a lot of reading. My opinions didn’t change very much, but I gained a more diverse view point and a stronger understanding of why certain people think certain ways. It’s easy to get angry at something said online, its a lot harder to listen, comprehend, and challenge things said to your face.

Anyways, here are a few highlights from this rollercoaster of a year:

1.We got Pokemon Go, Bitmojis, Luke Cage, Ben & Jerry’s Non-Dairy Ice Cream, and the Gilmore Girls Netflic revival.


2. We lost some amazing role models… #MayTheForceBeWithYou #Always



3. I learned that Women’s Rights are not even close to being settled. I learned that our judicial system favors rapists who can swim, over innocent victims of sexual assault. And I realized that voting for a woman on the presidential ballot was one of the most amazing moments of my life.



4. I learned to love myself. Again. I’ve realized self-awareness is a life-long activity.



5. The election and the outcome that shocked our nation. And officially seeing a new outlook on the people that inhabit this great country. I learned that even in my liberal New England bubble world, there are still many people that I know who see the world totally different from me.





6. Although my core foundation was being tested by some horrible events throughout 2016, I still had a handful of big milestones: I got a new job, I didn’t kill any family members (23 years years strong with this streak), I turned 23, I moved into my first apartment, and I started my doing freelance photography.


7. Overall, the year ended on a happy note. We’re celebrating the arrival of a new baby into our family and I actually stayed awake until midnight to ring in the new year (barely).


Obviously 2017 will have it’s ups and downs, but right now I’m hoping for more ups than downs. After the year we just had, I think we could all use a breather.

Goodbye 2016, and Happy New Year 2017!


Review: “Mother, Can You Not?” by Kate Siegel

Untitled-1I cannot express to you enough how much this book speaks to me on a personal level. Mom, I love you, but you’re a Crazy Jewish Mom.

Mother, Can You Not? is written by Kate Siegel, who created the hilarious and relatable @CrazyJewishMom Instagram account. I’ve been following Kate on Instagram for a year and a half now. And I know exactly when I started following her because I was on my Birthright trip in Israel when someone showed me her account while we all compared how crazy our Jewish moms were.

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From @CrazyJewishMom

Though her posts are hilarious, Instagram doesn’t really allow you to get the full effect of how insane her mother is. And by insane, I mean loving and doting to a colossal degree. AKA: beating out all of the other “helicopter parents” for most involved parent by developing the term “drone mother.”

Kate’s book – based off of the hysterical, border-line illegal, mostly embarrassing antics of Kate’s mother – is the deeper look inside of the @CrazyJewishMom Instagram account that calls to many young, single Jews with over bearing, persistent, but albeit lovable Jewish mothers that are constantly shvitzing over their children.


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From @CrazyJewishMom

Mother, Can You Not? is written with such a light and honest tone, that you can’t help but believe every word. Kate is just telling it like it is. And it’s crazy hilarious. I encourage everyone to grab a copy and add it to their summer reading list. Trust me, skip the gym because your abs will be sore from laughing so much.


Click here to get your copy today: Amazon or Barnes & Noble!


Best Face Forward

We all have different personas or moods we slip into when faced with certain situations. Maybe it’s professional personas at work versus personal personas at home. Or maybe its the difference between what personality you put forward when you’re with family versus close friends.

As I get older and meet more and more new people, I find that I have tons of different Abby’s inside of me, that appear depending on what situation I’m in. It’s not a bad thing, I know that. Sometimes I react to situations by altering my attitude to approach a problem or an event or a person differently. Sometimes it’s internal and I react to an issue that I’m having with myself, and it just manifests externally at different times.

I noticed it recently when I was at the 90s photoshoot. I was in a really good mood. And I was with people that I felt comfortable with. And I was having fun. So I was feeling goofy and relaxed and confident. I think my mood was half the reason the photos of me came out looking so great. My heart was in it that day.

It really catches my attention when I hang out with certain groups of friends. Some of my friends are boisterous and outgoing, while others are quiet and reserved. I started recognizing that my mood and personality react to those around me. If my friends were getting rowdy, I’d quiet down. If my friends were feeling glum, I’d start cracking jokes.

This all sounds pretty normal, but the part that really gets to me is that I’m unaware I’m even changing. These aren’t conscious decisions. They’re instinctual reactions that my brain is making before I even process that my friends are acting a certain way. It’s only until afterwards, that I realize what I was doing.

My biggest fear is being two-faced. My favorite compliment in high school was to be called reliable, because it meant I was just being me, no matter who I was with. Unapologetically me.

I really had an epiphany when I was on a date a few weeks back. I was being Shy Abby. He was kinda quiet and I didn’t want to over shadow him by talking too much. (Which is hilarious because any one who really knows me is fully aware that I barely shut up.) So there I was, sitting across the table from a perfectly nice guy, down playing certain parts of my life that I’m actually super proud of. On the ride home, I was so mad at myself for feeling embarrassed about who I was.

Being worried about what others think about me has always been a problem that has crept up here and there, only to be shoved down again when I remind myself that I like who I am and that’s all that matters at the end of the day. But sometimes there are lingering feelings. I’m sure others have felt it too.

As for relationships, my mom says someday I’ll find a guy that will be excited and thrilled by my many moods and personality traits and love each and everyone one of them. But that’s a lot to live up to, so I’m not holding my breath.

For now I’m just gonna focus on being me. In all my mood swinging, split personality, crazy glory. Take it or leave it. Life’s too short to try and be anyone else.


On a silly note: I’m sick of waiting weeks before showing new friends who I really am. I’m sick of not being 100% genuine, whether I know I’m holding myself back or not. And even further, I’m sick of shallow dates that never really amount to anything. Like great, we’ve gone on four dates and talked about absolutely nothing that matters.

So here, for the world to see, are the 10 things everyone should know about me so that we can move on to more meaningful conversations, interactions, and relationships. Feel free to supply me with your 10 things whenever you’re ready.

1. I have four brothers (I’m the only girl). They will probably kill you if you hurt me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have sisters. I’ve been adopting them throughout the last 22 years of my life. They will definitely kill you if you hurt me.

2. My mom is one of my best friends. She knows when we hanging out and generally everything else too. And cooks bomb food. Cause she’s fucking awesome.

3. I don’t really drink. You pressuring me to drink will probably result in me suddenly having an “emergency” from one of my “sisters” and needing to leave immediately. And then I’ll probably avoid hanging out with you any time after happy hour from then on.

4. I’m smart. And I will be successful in my lifetime. If that intimidates you, then bye.

Take Note: That drive? To be successful and accomplish something? That’s unbelievably attractive. Just a helpful hint for your next hot date.

5. If you tip less than 20% on the bill, I will secretly hate you.

6. I give a shit about things. People. The world. The environment. Stupid politics. If you have no passion (for literally anything – collect stamps for all I care), then we probably won’t be friends for long.

7. I have tons of awesome friends from all over. I also spend a lot of my time on my hobbies. And doing volunteer work. I’m happy to include you, but you will not be the center of my world.

8. I’m independent. Respect that. I’m looking for an equal. In friendships and relationships. Not a protector or a leader, and certainly not someone I’ll need to take care of. You are you. I am me.

9. I can’t eat ice cream. I’m lactose intolerant. I don’t really have a positive spin for this one. It’s just sad.

10. I want to be home by 10pm. Being social is fun, but being snuggled in my bed is even better. * 10:01pm – Grandma mode enabled *


Review: “How to be Happy: Not a Self-Help Book” by Iain S. Thomas

IMG_3716In January, my mom and I went out to dinner with some family friends, Tara and her daughter Mim. Mom and Mim coincidentally have the same birthday (January 20th) so it was a duel celebration. Mim is actually my younger brother’s age and they’ve been friends since they were about five, but I also sort of adopted her as a sister along the way too.

Though she’s only 15 now, she’s lightyears ahead of her age, especially when it comes to reading. Mim, like myself when I was her age (and still today), reads anything and everything. For years now we’ve been swapping books whenever we see each other. During our dinner in January, Mim pulled a book out of her bag and handed it to me. (Side note: I think the book was actually for my mom, but I snagged it before mom got her hands on it.) The book she passed on was How to be Happy: Not a Self-Help Book by Iain S. Thomas which Mim gave very high praise.

How to be Happy specifically says “Not a Self-Help Book. Seriously.” on the front cover and it doesn’t disappoint – some of the advice is down right terrible. The premise of the book is that Iain has no idea how to write a book about being happy because he’s not sure how to be happy himself half the time. Which of course is a completely relatable topic. It’s a small book with a strange drawing on the front of some type of candle. The book’s dedication provides a hint to the adorably touching story within:

For my wife for being both the woman I love and the woman I need; for my mother for her tireless spirit; for my late father for his wisdom and bad jokes; for anyone who’s ever shared their time with me and read what I write; and finally, for Michelle, my tireless publisher for her constant support.

But not for Sandra.

Although I do hope she’s finally getting help, wherever she is.

The first page is a tweet by the writer, @IWroteThisForU, in January 2014.


I kind of freaking out when Iain S. Thomas “liked” the tweet of my favorite line from his book.

The second page is an email from the mysterious Sandra J. And so begins the tale of Iain, his struggles of writing a book about being happy, trying to pay the bills on a writer’s salary, writing poetry and short stories for his blog, and the continued struggle of a person who doesn’t fit the mold of what other’s are expecting from him. The story branches off at a multitude of points with random stories and various other book ideas, providing relief for the reader and Iain himself as he continues to hit roadblock after roadblock, and eventually ends with a twist that will make you laugh out loud.

Each snippet of the book is made up of real tweets, real emails, real blog posts, real experiences, and real emotions. Some days on my way to work, reading this book on the T, I would go through an ocean of feelings from happiness, to sorrow, to anger, in less than 45 minutes. Reading the entire book, following Iain’s struggles with writing, struggles with Sandra, and struggles with the other various things that happen in his life along the way, is an experience within itself layered with humor and introspection.

If you’re looking for a lighthearted summer read, find your copy of How to be Happy: Not a Self-Help Book at Barnes & Noble or Amazon. If you’d like to read other work by Iain S. Thomas, he has written a myriad of other books including I Wrote This For You, as well as continually posting to his blog,


Run, Forest! Run!

When I was a kid, my mom signed me up for track over one summer. At the beginning of every practice, we would do laps around the football field. I want to say it was like 10 laps, but honestly it was probably more like one or two. I was young though, maybe eight or nine years old, so it felt like forever.

That was the summer I realized I hated to run. Not just disliked, but hated running. In middle school, I came up with the bright idea to join cross country. Probably just because my friends were doing it. We had all hit puberty, some faster than others, and we were all suddenly aware of our body shapes.

Unfortunately, my love handled and hips – which seemed to appear over night – didn’t freak me out enough to find a way to like running. I still hated running. Even for five minutes. Even if my friends were right next to me. Even if I knew it was good for me. It wasn’t going to happen.

When I run my face turns red. Not pink or “flushed,” in that cute way some girls get, I turn red. Bright, tomato, fire-engine, my-face-is-literally-on-fire, red. And I stop breathing. Not joking. My throat feels like it’s closing up and my lungs suddenly forget how to take in air. It’s horrendous. And that all happens before I’ve even hit the 1/2 mile point.

I’m 22 right now and I run a few times a week. Nothing has changed. Running is still just as terrible and uncomfortable and embarrassing as it was when I was 12. I wear a tight sports bra that basically makes it impossible to breath because- boobs. I am a woman. Boobs are a part of life. I wear a visor that blocks the sun from my eyes and my face from other people because- red face. People stare. It’s awkward. One time a woman on the beach actually stopped me to ask if I was okay. And I run so slow. People think I’m joking when I say that my mother can power walk comfortably next me while I run. I try to think happy thoughts while running, so that I don’t think about the fact that I’m running. Or about how I hate running. Or about how running hates me.

But every once in a while, it doesn’t suck so bad. And when its over, I feel really great. Like, I’m a totally badass and I don’t care that my face looks like its hot enough to fry an egg on my forehead. Which it probably is.

Moments like that always make me think of one of my favorite movies: Forest Gump. My favorite scene is early in the movie when Forest is being chased by those mean kids in the truck and he’s got those metal leg braces on. He starts wobbling to get away and then he start jogging. And Jenny yells, “Run, Forest! Run!” cause she knows those boys are gonna whoop his ass if he doesn’t. So Forest is running and suddenly his leg braces start cracking and they fall away from his legs in this slow motion shot as he runs faster and faster – finally free. And the guys in the truck are confused cause he’s moving so fast after breaking free of those metal leg cages, but he doesn’t stop, Forest just keeps on running.

Every once in a while I feel like that. Like something just comes over me and I start running faster and faster (which really isn’t that fast since I’m already going snail speed) and the aches in my lungs and my legs just go away and I’m cruising. I think that’s called Runner’s High, but like I said, it doesn’t happen very often.

I would never call myself a runner because I still hate running. Maybe someday that will change, but based on my track record (pun intended), I’m not holding my breath. However, those infrequent moments that running is enjoyable, make it worth it to go the extra mile (pun intended, again).

*drops mic*

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