The (inner) monologue.

6:00am. Alarm goes off. "What if I can't do it today?"
6:30am. After a cold brew coffee, my shoe laces are tied and we're heading out the door. Water bottle and bug spray in tow. "What if I feel embarrassed today? I hope there's no one there. Please let there be no one there." I sheepishly clasp my hands together in prayer and do a hail Mary.
6:40am. It seems like there are more people than usual. I blush from embarrassment.
6:43am. "Why did I drink so much this weekend?" I already feel slow.
6:45am. Five minute warm up walk. I make an attempt to enjoy the morning. My brain ends up spiraling into what mind over matter means and I decide it's a bunch of bullshit. I miss the morning's beauty again.
6:50am. C25K app dings and says the words I've been dreading. Begin running.
6:55am. It's only been 5 minutes and I'm already out of breath. "How am I going to make it? There's no way I'm going to make it."
7:00am. Two songs have played. If I've done the math correctly, I need to run through six and a half. My shins hurt, my pace is slow and I'm struggling to catch my breath. "This is torture. Is this ever going to be easy for me?"
7:02am. The familiar "ding." You are halfway there. "Only halfway? Go to hell, weird lady in my app."
7:02andahalf am. The third song is just now starting. "Why the fuck is Monster Mash on my running playlist?" I try to "zone out." I do not know what it means when a runner "zones out." I'm very aware of the extra 90 pounds I'm trying to run with. I decide zoning out is for skinny people.
7:05am. A large group of thin, tan, and healthy teenage girls run past me three times my speed, effortlessly. "Oh, fuck you." The stares make my stomach turn, and I'm ashamed and angry. The last of my confidence (which now is the size of a mustard seed) is squashed. I start to walk
7:08am. "What the fuck are you doing? Am I really just quitting? God dammit, Erica." My legs still won't run. I don't really know why but the fact that my calves feel like tree trunks is a good indicator.
7:09am. I only have six minutes left. I start running again. I can't feel my legs anymore and I want to cry. I can't believe I let myself walk for a minute. I wonder if it's ever going to start feeling good to go for a run. I get angry at fit people for running like it's a goddamn fucking hobby. 
7:10am. I'm looking at the stopwatch every minute. It's torture. I want to stop, but I don't.
7:11am. "How is this entire fucking trail uphill? Is that even physically possible?"
7:12am. A couple walking next to each other coming the opposite direction. They're taking up the entire trail. Both staring at me struggling. Neither one moves to the left and I'm forced off the trail. I'm so angry, I flip them off with both fingers. "I'm 245 pounds, I'm sweating buckets, I'm clearly struggling with what I'm doing. I'm not trying to have a fucking face off with you. So move."
7:12am. Time is moving at glacial speeds. I'm mad at those teenage girls. I'm mad at that stupid couple. I'm mad at time itself.  I'm mad at this stupid song on my playlist. I'm mad at my legs. I'm mad at the ground. I'm mad at myself.
7:12am. "Did time just stop? Is the world just fucking with me now?"
7:12am. "Yeah, it's fucking with me now.
7:13am. "I don't think I'm going to make it."
7:14am. "I don't think I'm going to make it."
7:15am. Ding. Your run is complete, start your cool down now.