If you told me a year ago that I'd be running, I would've laughed in your face. I have never been a runner, nor have I aspired to become one. Ever. Yet, here I am. Not only am I out there 4 days a week, torturing my body, but I'm really, seriously, attempting to feel comfortable enough to sign up for a half marathon. Again - if you told me a year ago that I'd be seriously considering a half marathon, I would've laughed in you face. It would have been the most asinine thing I'd ever heard. Me, attempting a half marathon?! (Truth be told, I wouldn't have enough known how far that was. For the record, it's 13.1 miles.)
Do I like running? Eh, I'm still on the fence. When I'm out there, I HATE RUNNING. I mean I. HATE. IT. The only good thing I get from it is that it's the only time of the day that I am just me. I'm not someone's employee, I'm not someone's wife, I'm not someone's daughter, I'm not someone's mommy, I'm not someone's co-worker, I'm not someone's personal shopper/chef/maid/butt wiper... I am me. Often, I get the pleasure of being a friend while I run, but even then - I am just me. (Which, I must say, is a sign of a true friendship - that even with a friend running beside you there is no obligation to do or be anything other than yourself.) There is no Facebook to distract me, no phone to answer, no child begging me for something, no traffic stressing me out, no dishes to clean, no lunches to pack, no burdens to bear. It's me, my mind, (lately, my music), and the road. It's better therapy than anything else I've ever tried. Time alone really isn't so bad you know. It's very freeing in today's fast-paced world.
After I'm done running, like immediately after, I REALLY hate it. Some days it takes everything in me not to pass out. As soon as I stop, things get a little fuzzy, my knees get a bit weak, the world starts to spin... (This is why I do not stop when I'm running alone, unless I am very near a bench to plop down on, can you imagine the sight I'd be?? No, let's not imagine that!) Then, time passes. A shower, a drink, and a snack calm & cool me, and I start to feel good. I mean really, really good. It's a high. It's a feeling of power & accomplishment; pride & happiness; adrenaline & hazy brain. The more I run, the greater that high feels & the longer it lasts. That feeling, and that feeling alone is what gets me out there even on days like today where I really just wanted to crawl in bed instead. Okay, the truth is that it's that feeling AND the potential for hawt legs. The only thing hotter than those are dancers' legs & I will not ever be graceful enough to be a dancer.
So, there you have it. I love running 'cause I like to get high & I enjoy hawt legs. Or something like that anyway.
