Long of Wind, Short of Breath

Last year I ran a marathon.
I plan to this year.
The question 'why am I writing this instead of running?' plagues me.
And yet I write.
Here is what is interesting about my capacity for self-destruction. I don't always do what feels best or what I most enjoy.
I would think if I were you, dear reader, that your friend mycapacity would be destructive of himself in order to increase pleasure and mitigate displeasure.
This is not the case.
I know this because I am not running right now, and I really like running. I am not using right now in the abstract. I have the day off. I could leave right now. I could be running in a climate controlled environment (for which I pay for the privilege of using) in about half an hour.
The honest reason I am not lacing up my asics right now is that I ate so damn much last night that I cannot possibly get it together to go running.
Also, I know that when I get there I will be hosed because I know my run would be sucky.
I used to run 90 minutes on my 'normal days'. Meaning a day where I wasn't really trying.
Now with the torpor that has set into my system, a beer run sounds daunting.
In any event, this has been a very long explanation about a very small moment, I'll be back later, gotta run.