Yesterday's run was a nightmare.
First, it was on the treadmill. (Which, I swear, taunts and teases me by inaccurately reporting my speed and distance. Damn the digital readout!)
Second, it was first thing in the morning. I am not a "morning" person. I am barely an "afternoon" person. But early morning was the only free time I had yesterday to do my workout, so I did it.
Third, I was running on an empty stomach. (Because it was a morning run. And there's no way in hell I'm going to get up early enough to eat, allow a snack to digest, and then run.)
The first mile was agony. Torture. I kept wanting to quit. Stop. Slow down. Crawl back into bed. I cursed myself. I cursed the treadmill. I cursed the Discovery Health channel (which was running a great episode about healthy eating and exercise. Irony. Gotta love it.)
Second mile was easier. But still a pain.
By the third mile I felt better. Stronger. At the very least, I stopped cursing everything and everyone.
Sometimes it pays to go the distance.