Just keepin’ it real over here.
I took my running clothes, and ran the first day in France, but felt so out-of-place on the city streets that I didn’t attempt it again.
This morning, I set my alarm for 6am, and told myself that I WOULD wake up and run. I set out my clothes the night before. After tying my shoes and grabbing my watch and mentally attempting to prepare myself (“You’ll never regret going for a run.” “You’re always happier on days you’ve gone running.” “Stop being such a lazy bum!” “Waking up is the hardest part – get out there and get moving.”), I went outside and realized it was raining. Not much, but enough to kill the tiny bit of resolve I had managed to build.