I hate running.

I hate running.
To quote Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, “I’m using the word hate here.” I hate running so much that if I hear anybody talking about how much they enjoy running, I find myself thinking, I could never be friends with this person.

There is nothing enjoyable about running. Running is what happens in Hell.

There are so many things I would rather do than run. I would rather do squats and planks for an hour than run for 15 minutes. I would rather suffer two dozen papercuts. I would rather listen to nothing but “Baby” by Justin Bieber on repeat for a full day. That old meme of “I only run when I’m being chased” doesn’t even apply to me, because if someone was chasing me my first thought would probably be to jump into a dumpster or something. Anything but running.

I know what you’re about to say, so let me stop you right there: I KNOW. Running is sooooo good for me and if I run every day then all my health problems will be solved like THAT… and running is the best and only people who run can understand the true beauty and nature of the universe, and there is a special secret club reserved for runners where there is a string quartet and they feed you chocolate-covered strawberries all day… and blah blah cardiovascular blah blah blah metabolism blah blahhhhh.

I know.

And because I know all that, I do run. I don’t have to like it.

But because of this mismatch of worldviews, when I run it ends up turning into a somewhat schizophrenic experience. Like my brain is actually two people: my internal personal trainer who knows, logically, that this is good for me… and the petulant child who still really really doesn’t ever want to run EVER. And running is like this ongoing internal battle between the two, and I spend the entire time arguing with myself.

Internal Personal Trainer Me: Just a little farther! You can do it!
Petulant Child Me: NNNOOOOO, this is too haaaaard. People invented cars and airplanes specifically to avoid having to travel on foot. Running on purpose is like turning my back on the hard work of our forefathers… I think I’m gonna take a break and walk for awhile.
Internal Personal Trainer Me: DON’T YOU DARE WALK YOU LAZY PIECE OF CRAP!
Petulant Child Me: …Why do you suck so much? Why are you allowed in my head?
…etc. etc.

But literally the solitary reason for this post is to announce that today I ran THREE MILES without stopping once. Which I understand is probably peanuts to all you marathoners and genetic mutations out there… but for me it’s roughly the equivalent of climbing Mount Everest, or opening a jar of pickles by myself.

…But afterward I was ready to collapse, and the petulant child in me was throwing an absolute fit. So I still would certainly not call the experience enjoyable. Not by a long shot. Not by a shot three miles long, which by the way is how far I ran today.

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6 thoughts on “I hate running.

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