After my corn dog meltdown this morning, I was determined to run. So after work, I mustered the energy to haul my sickly self off of the couch and to the treadmill–there was no way I was going outside with this hacking cough–and set out to do 5 miles to make up in some small way for yesterday’s sloth.
Two miles in, it was clear that 5 miles wasn’t going to happen. My lungs were burning, I could feel a wheeze coming on, and not even crap afternoon TV could distract me from my misery. After three miles, I did a weird interval mile of faster runs for .15-.2 and then walking for .1 to recover.
But, I ran! Time to pound more hot tea.