Someone asked me recently how I got to where I liked running. This may surprise you, but I don’t. I actually HATE running. I like buying pretty running clothes, and I like the idea of saying I’m a runner. I don’t hit runners high. I don’t enjoy the pain (it hurts, it doesn’t feel good) and I don’t like sweating.
|Via Yeah, this is what I think I look like, but this doesn’t happen.|
I think I may have once found ‘runners high’ but that was a fluke. I run with friends, I run with Jake (ok, that only happened like twice), and I run by myself. I still don’t like it. I’ve tried a treadmill, I usually run outside, I’ve tried pretty trails, I’ve tried regular streets, I’ve tried neighborhoods. I still hate it all.
|Via This would be me.|
I like my shoes. My running shoes are pretty.
Now I’m training for a half marathon and I still don’t like it. I am not excited, I’m pretty much dreading it. I wish that I loved running. I want to love running. Maybe one day I will. Maybe once I’ve accomplished something other than creating bodily pain from running (like finishing the half marathon) I’ll like it and feel like it’s something that makes me a better person.
I think I used to like running. Maybe. I don’t know.
|Via Pretty much sums it up, don’t you think?|
This sickness is making me Oscar the grouch. I’m sorry all.
But really, I don’t like running.
|Via “I RUN BECAUSE I HATE RUNNING!” No one has ever said it better.|