Running before breakfast is hard. When I’m fit, it’s just about manageable. When I’m not, it’s like running through porridge.
This morning I felt exhausted before leaving the house. Tiredness of the general and physical kind are combining – why isn’t it christmas yet? I only have three days left at work – the shortest of the year – but they feel like the longest.
Enough of my moaning. The run was tough, shorter than I had planned and I was struggling to think of anything positive to say about it, but then I realised: I had run the whole way. I didn’t stop to walk. I may have only run 3 miles, but they were 3 whole miles.
I ate my porridge with a little less resentment after that.
Not a Jogger 