For the first time, I wanted to give up today.

It's sad, but true. It started on Saturday, when we went up to the mountains south of town. Did not ski. I was disappointed. No one else wanted to, and I didn't want to be the entitled, rich American. Anyway, it was still fun. But on the way back, we stopped at a roadside restaurant. Probably not the best idea.

Woke up at 4 a.m. the next morning with intestinal issues. I didn't move more than 50 feet from a toilet the rest of the day. I was supposed to run five miles, but, since I had barely slept and barely ate anything, I passed on that--first day I had missed the schedule.

Feeling a little better on Monday, I picked it back up. I didn't want to run too far, so I spent an hour on an eliptical instead. I figured it made up for it, because, at any pace faster than walking, I can make five miles in an hour. I didn't hit as high of a heart rate, but I was three times as bored, so I thought it was all the same.

My 3.5-mile run this morning let me know differently. My calfs burned every step of the way, and, when I was done, I could barely walk.

It's why I felt like quitting. 3.5 miles is still 9.6 less than the half-marathon.

Fortunately, I'm not, yet. I waste at least a half an hour a day. I can spend it running instead.

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