From house to road is 500 metres. I was up and back twice yesterday, and but for pauses at each end and caving in for a brief walk on the last stretch, I did it. 2km isn't much, but it's a start. I have no plans for entering a race, but have my own little goals. They're a secret for now, whispering excitedly in my head.
The paradox of discipline: I don't want to do it. I don't like it. I make myself do it. I complain while I do it ... but know, deep down, that the complaining is not what I need to listen to. I push through. I feel better and am better for it. And that's not just running.