As I sit here my daughter is forcing me to play playdoh. I'm tired. I drink a cup of coffee laced with coconut oil with hopes I perk up and also get rid of this fucking cough I've had for over a month. No point in going to the doctor as all they'll say is "it's a virus, it will go away in time." Then send me home. 

The days on my feet add up. The training seems pointless sometimes. It's not the quality training I want. Why can't I commit to the process? Family obligations take priority. 

I listen to podcasts about guys running 100 mile weeks, married, have kids, and a full time job of 50-60 hours a week. They race nearly twice a month, all distances. I try to find their secret. The component I lack. I think I know what it is and it will never change. 

The little guy is awake. Time to get back at it. Soon it will be bed time. Run time! This streak now keeps my motivation up, almost at 100 days! And I like that.