I like to run; I really do. Finding the motivation is the hardest part, but when I’m feelin’ it, it’s one of the most satisfying activities of my day (the endorphins certainly don’t hurt).
But it’s weird, this leisure activity that so many of us pursue.
I’m subjecting my body to mile after mile after painstaking mile because I am being forced to by absolutely no one but myself. I willingly dropped a c-note to sign up for the Flying Pig half marathon just to see if I can actually run 13.1 miles without vomiting on myself. Tune in post-race to see how that one ends …
The thing about running is that it is really idiotically rewarding. Besides the endorphin high, I just feel so freaking accomplished after I’ve physically exhausted myself to achieve an arbitrary goal. I know my goals are arbitrary; I made them all up and wrote them down on a chart that I stuck to the fridge. Three miles today, four miles tomorrow, ten miles on Sunday, etc, etc. But it doesn’t even matter. You better believe that I’m going to strap on my Nike kicks (I’m still waiting for my endorsement money, Nike) and pound the pavement as soon as I’m done writing this. Why? Because I really, really, really want to cross today off my chart. It’s absurdly motivating!
Seriously, if you want to accomplish something, write it down and put it somewhere you will have to see it every. single. day. I can’t even reach into my fridge for a [insert healthy food item here] without being reminded that I haven’t logged my miles yet. I don’t know how this half marathon is going to go (see aforementioned comment about vomiting on oneself), but I do feel good about setting a goal, however arbitrary, and sticking with it. It is intriguing to see if I can accomplish something new, and feels good to hoist a little self-discipline onto my footloose and fancy free ways.
So yeah, I guess that’s why I run.
Photo (Flickr CC) by J R