I am not sure, internet, if I communicated the degree of unhappiness that Saturday's run caused me. It made me wonder whether I should take up a more pleasant hobby, like gnawing off my own digits or perhaps auto-enucleation (a nice biblical hobby, that one). I was not really persuaded that tonight's run was a good idea: 1 mile warmup, 3-mile tempo run, 1 mile cooldown. To my surprise and relief, it felt great. I had planned to keep my heart rate in the low 150s for the tempo phase, and I kept having to raise the treadmill speed to make that happen. I am still slow, mind you: don't imagine me raising the treadmill speed very high, but I only had to muster about 30% of my willpower to keep myself moving forward, and no louring black clouds of doom gathered over my head, mustered by the magnetic force of my misery. This, my friends, is progress.