Guilt.

I remember the first time I ever left Kyle anywhere overnight.

It was February 2001, and for Valentine's Day, Russ gave me tickets to see Robert Earl Keen and Lyle Lovett at the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. I am a HUGE LL fan -- HUGE -- so I was pumped.

It was on a weeknight, and we knew we wouldn't back until really late. So my mom jumped at the chance to watch 2-year-old Kyle overnight.

I drove home from the show because Russ had to be at work at his usual time the next day. As he snoozed in the seat beside me, I let the guilt roll over me.

Guilt because Kyle didn't really know where we were.

Guilt because Kyle would wake up in the morning and not know where we were.

What kind of mother was I, putting my interests before my child?

And so on.

Now of course, we all know that Kyle had an absolute blast spending the night with his "Gran," as he calls her. He didn't think twice about Mama and Daddy. And we all know that a parent spending the night away from the child isn't a horrible thing.

But I was wracked with guilt about it.

I tell that story to tell you that I am a guilt MONSTER. If it's possible to be feel guilty about something, I will.

So you can imagine the way I feel after not running this morning. I still feel guilty when I take a rest day, even though I know they're needed.

I planned to run: had my alarm set and all my stuff ready to go, but I couldn't sleep. So after tossing and turning for two hours, I turned off the 4:15 a.m. alarm.

I finally got some sleep and I know I will be better for it today.

But the guilt at not running when I had ample opportunity will eat at me little by little.