I like running, I really do. It has become a central part of my life over the last few years, after being a regular-ish habit ever since I was a student. I find it a useful and necessary spring-cleaning of the brain, clearing out the worthless bric-a-brac. If bad weather or injury force me to go without for a few weeks, I start getting dangerously crazy, uptight, overwound.
And yet, and yet...... there are some days when the enthusiasm just isn't there. I've got an irksome Achilles-tweak I should probably rest for a few more days; it's cold and foggy this morning; the air pollution has been especially high lately; my new shoes don't feel right, and are probably exacerbating the injury; I don't really have time to warm down and recover before I have to go to work; and so on.
I am supposed to be running a marathon in six weeks' time - but I am slow and overweight, and haven't attempted much more than the half-distance in the last four months. It's not looking good.
I have to get out there and RUN.
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