Some time during the past few weeks marked my 2nd anniversary as a runner. And by “runner”, I mean somebody who runs regularly (and slowly) as part of a fitness routine … not someone who logs masses amounts of miles/kilometers for speed in competitive events or even “fun runs.” And that’s probably the major reason I completely spaced this particular milestone. After more than two years of plodding away at it, I still don’t think there’s any such thing as a “fun run.”
And the sad thing is that I want to love it SO BAD. I want to love running because I’ve always admired people who do it and thought I could benefit from the solitary, meditative nature of it … though somewhat ironically, I NEVER run without music or a podcast in my ears to distract me from the pain and boredom.
I want to love it because it’s such a convenient and effective aerobic workout that can be done anytime, anywhere with no special equipment except a decent pair of shoes (and something that will allow me to listen to music or a podcast to distract me from the pain and boredom).
But mostly I want to love it because my friend Sophie loves it. She’s getting ready to run a 50k ultra-marathon on Saturday with NO music or podcasts in her ears… something that sounds like many hours of complete torture to me. And yet I still envy her. Or maybe I just envy her passion for it.
Two years on I’d settle for just liking it. Hell, I’d even be happy with the occasional runner’s high. Is that too much to ask?