The Kreb's Cycle.

Popeye was "the man". He was a real "man's man". Not only could Popeye slug the lights out of his adversary's dome, but countless times he did it after an impromptu, full meal of hardy, iron-rich, fiber-rich, green, leafy vegetables. His metabolism must have been through the roof. (On the down side, he must have been a boy's-room-frequent. Crass, yes, but realistically? But then, seldom does hollywood want us to see the less glamorous side of a super star's daily life.) On Tuesday, I guess I knew, in the back of my mind, that I'm not Popeye when I decided that a meal and a run (in that order) could both be crammed into the hour between work and my next engagement. That little voice telling me it was a bad idea eventually conceded to my optimism of yesteryear when all things cartoon were possible. Oh, the folly of youth. I've since decided that the syntax of my daily activities occasionally needs more careful consideration.

I didn't run yesterday. And I don't feel like running today. There I said it. It feels like a weight lifted off of my shoulders. So... now I'm sitting at my desk watching little rivulettes trickle down my window, weighing the pros and cons of a run in the rain. On any other given day, I would take running in the rain over running in any other kind of weather hands down, but tonight, I have no gumption. I need gumption. Perhaps I'll put on my running clothes and start out with a nice liesurely stroll. We'll see what it turns into.