Do it.

I'm an ad cliche. This morning, I got up at 5:15 and stared at the elliptical machine that's been gathering dust in our spare room. I grabbed my laptop and queued up an episode of "Brothers and Sisters," a now-canceled evening soap about a bunch of crying, yelling, hugging, and fighting siblings and their mom. (On a side note, I really do wish we had a Scotty in our family. If you watched the show, you know what I mean. He's just lovely.)

On the elliptical, I chose an "aerobic" routine and clicked the timer to 20 minutes. At about 15 minutes, I considered getting off. It was painful and I was sweating and I really did need to start getting ready for work. But, I was rationalizing. Again. When I ran track, albeit very very briefly, in high school (the coach told me I had runner's legs, but his tone skeeved me out and I bailed), my lungs would give out well before my legs. Now? My lungs are fine. My legs are jelly.

I carried on, watching the timer on the machine and saying to myself, "Come on. Just do it."

Seriously?! Thanks Nike. No, really. Thanks.

I went all painful 20 minutes. Evidently, if I had been on the road, I would have traveled 3.24 miles. I didn't look at how many calories I burned because, honestly, what did I really burn? Half an energy bar? Awesome.