I should, right this very second, be getting to the end of a 6 mile run. But I’m lard arsing on the couch watching UFC from who knows when, making a dozen or so excuses and revised promises to run tomorrow / Saturday / Sunday and make up the missing mileage.
I have a terrible craving for the Gü brownies that are in the freezer and I’m sulking a bit too.
It’s that great irony, I know I’ll feel great if I unstick my bottom from the couch and lace up my trainers, but I can’t find the energy or a ounce of motivation to move.