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It's 5:00am. I somehow wake even though I forgot to set my alarm last night. Also, I feel like shit. Clearly, I ate too much. I can already tell I'm going to pay for it.

I lay in bed for a few minutes, debating whether I should even bother with a run I know is going to feel terrible. I weigh the pros and cons. The latter exceeds the former significantly. "But," I tell myself, "each con that exists right now is my own fault." With that in mind, I come to the conclusion that a garbage run is proper punishment for poor nutritional choices.

I slide out of bed and prep for the run (though I realize no amount of preparation will mitigate the what's coming). I put on some music to keep my mind occupied by something other than how I feel. I head out the door and thank whatever gods may be for the cool morning temperatures.

The run begins. It feels exactly as expected. I curse my former idiocy. I knew I had to run this morning. Why does past Jesse have to be such an ass? He did me no favors. That guy is so selfish.

The first couple miles are rough. My stomach doesn't feel great at rest. Add a little jostling to the mix and it certainly doesn't feel better. About two miles in, I have to burp. It's remarkably uncomfortable and I almost vomit, but manage to keep it down...mostly. Some of it comes out my nose and I'm forced to use my shirt as a tissue. Mmmm...now the run smells like it feels.

Carrying on, I remind myself, "You created the conditions for this run. It's time to pay for it." I have no one to blame but myself. The next several miles go by with little change in physical sensation. The sunrise keeps my spirits up and the music allows me the illusion of enjoyment.

At the midpoint, I come across an outhouse. I should take advantage of it. Maybe that will alleviate my suffering for the remainder of the run. But when I look inside, second thoughts attack. It's hard to tell if this toilet has ever been cleaned before. I can make it home.

For a couple miles, I almost feel decent. My pace is certainly unaffected, even if I'm not at the top of my game right now. Hope stirs. Maybe the latter half of this run will turn it around for me. Have I worked through the worst of it? Not quite.

I reach the last two miles. Most of the run is flat, but these last two miles are mostly at an incline. The hills don't burn my legs, but they berate my lungs and assault my gut. I focus on swinging my arms, keeping my eyes trained on the top of the hill. I attempt to work with gravity even as it does its level best to fight me and hold me back.

Once I summit these hills, the final half mile will be nice and easy. With that in mind, I power through, coming at last to the top of the last hill. Home free! The hills have taken their toll, but I paid that toll and I still have a little leftover. I hurry back to my apartment, overjoyed to have survived. Justice has been served. I did the crime. I did the time. And now I feel good. Well, I mean, I actually feel bad, but you know what I'm saying.