A few weeks before my spring semester ended, I started running. By "running," I mean a light jog, usually lasting 30 minutes. I was so terribly out of shape, the first "run" nearly killed me. Luckily (?) I had my boyfriend there to push me, something I apparently can't do on my own.
I had to stop the week leading up to finals week because of the crap-ton of things I had going on, and when I got home for summer I immediately started a CNA course. Getting up at four in the morning really didn't inspire a lot of extra energy, so I promised myself I'd restart my exercise regimen once I finished my class. My last day was June 7th. I have run three times in those two weeks.
Fortunately, I found a good way to force myself to run the full half hour, rather than wimping out at 25 and calling it good. I have to run on the treadmill, where if I stop, I die. (Okay, that's a little dramatic, but I have to trick myself into doing these things.)
What's really awful is that I know if I can get into the habit of doing it again, it won't hurt as much. But every time I go easy on myself, I ensure it will hurt just as much tomorrow.
Plus, the treadmill is in the house, so I don't have to wear more than shorts and a sports bra, which is definitely a plus.
We'll see if I can get going again. Maybe I should start rewarding myself with stickers...