Got myself to the gym this evening, having sort of survived an epically busy day, and was fairly pleased with myself for doing so - up to the point I found myself staring at the elliptical trainer, realising that I had little to no idea how I was going to get through the next forty-five minutes. But get through them I did, though only just, and in deeply unimpressive fashion.
I'm sort of vaguely pleased with myself for making the effort; but I'm keenly aware that that pleasure may well be misplaced.
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