All I could think about on Tuesday as I ran 3.5 miles (the farthest I’ve ever run) was “I hate running.”
My back hurts (probably because I have bad form).
I sweat. It usually drips off of my neck and my forehead and I don’t have a way to catch it. Sure, I could wear a sweatband around my forehead, but we are not in the 80s, People!
I spend money on shoes once a year. Nice shoes so that I don’t get shin splints. Shoes that are made for running and are not always the most aesthetically pleasing to the eye.
Shin splints. Enough said. WORST THING EVER!
I have to spend money on clothes for which the sole purpose will be to sweat profuse amounts of toxins on them. And still attempt to look cute while doing it.
I never look cute. I’m running. It’s always a disaster.
So, why do I keep running? Why do I sign up for a 10K only in the 2nd week of training start questioning my decision to run a race?
First off, I’ve lost a decent amount of weight from running. Like... 30 of those LBS. Yeah. That right there—makes it worth it. So I continue to run.
Two—endorphins. There is a serious high that I have when my ipod tells me “Congratulations, you have completed 3.5 miles.” Say what?! It doesn’t matter how long it took, I completed something. And for the girl who has goals that I never seem to reach, that completion means the world.
Alone time. I know. I’m single. I already have plenty of alone time. But running gives me that chance to sort out thoughts in my head. The problems I have can either be motivating (as in I’m pretending I’m running away from them) or minimized (because I think, “that little problem there? Nothing compared to the fact that I can’t breathe right now!”). I think more clearly while on a run. I’m more rational. And what girl doesn’t need to be more rational?
Yes, I curse and complain and whine the ENTIRE time I’m running. In fact, some people who see me may think I’m crazy. But I keep running. Because I’d rather be a sane, skinny, happy girl than a fat couch potato.
So, are you with me?