Sometimes when I'm at Target, or the mall, or driving next to a sidewalk, I see a shirt that says, “I love Running” with a big red heart, and I fight an overwhelming desire to scream... “LIAR!” I'm sure many of you, especially those who own some type of “love-running” paraphernalia or those of you lanky folks with lungs of steal and disproportionately long legs, are mentally defending yourselves at this very moment, but let's be honest; except for a small minority of genetically mutated people and maybe cheetahs, the act of running should simply not be categorized as fun.
I would appreciate it if runners would wear a more honest T-shirt, such as I love Endorphins, or I love to be outside so I put up with the torture of running, or I want to look good in jeans, have more energy and overcome fatigue and depression, so I endure everything awful that goes along with the act of running. That one might need small print on the front and back of the shirt, but at least it would be more sincere, in my humble opinion.
I admire the dedication and commitment to a “sport” that is being “enjoyed” by millions of people of all ages. I actually spent a few minutes reading comments, stories, and advice on runnersworld.com the other day. It was very entertaining. My favorite section contained a discussion on how to run in freezing and icy conditions. The runners were telling each other about special metal spiked pins to put in their running shoes to keep from slipping on the ice, along with ways to overcome the burning sensation that accompanies running in sub-zero temperatures. I resisted the urge to comment on the discussion, but so many thoughts were running through my head. Do these people truly "love" running enough to drive spikes into their Saucony's and/or "work through" the burning and freezing pain in their lungs? Or, more appropriately, is it those pesky addictive Endorphins and the guilt and motivation of going 3 days without a run?
These thoughts are not coming from someone who dislikes all physical activity. I played sports competitively from the time I was in grade school through my 4th year of college. I put in as many hours playing basketball to maintain my college scholarship as most people who had part-time jobs. I loved scrimmaging and some of the competitive drills and anything that had to do with shooting, but during the first few weeks of conditioning every season I had to create a happy place. My teammates and I fought for positions by racing around the outdoor track and running from baseline to baseline on the court until we were physically sick. Everyone hated conditioning—running until we couldn't breathe, spraining our ankles and tearing our ACL's among other things.
I did not play basketball because I loved running and sprinting and jumping rope for two or more hours, only to scramble across campus to shovel large amounts of food in my starving body before the cafeteria closed. I played because I knew that in October we would have our first scrimmages and games and we would all be in good enough shape that we would only need to maintain everything that we had worked so hard to accomplish. And more than that I played because it was fun. It was fun to play a competitive team sport with close friends who played hard and made each other better players, and better people; I still consider many of those teammates some of my closest friends today.
After graduation, when I moved South and was officially done with competitive sports forever, I thought I would take up running as a way to stay in shape and be healthy. It was a lot easier and quicker than the other athletic alternatives, and everyone I knew seemed to be training for a Triathlon or at the very least a Half-Marathon. I had always hated running, but this was going to be a new beginning—a new alliance between us.
I bought some new running shoes and found a few running friends. It was August in South Carolina and the first night I thought the humidity was going to drown me and my new shoes in a thick, spongy cloud of H2O. I scampered to keep up and make conversation while all I could hear was the pounding of my lead feet on the blacktop. I kept running on a fairly consistent basis outside for a few years although I never adjusted to the humidity, and I don't think I ever will.
Eight years and a few arthritic knees and ankles later, I accepted the fact that a buoyant, forgiving treadmill is probably the best way to go for me, which is the first sign that I am not a true runner at all. I bought the treadmill over a year ago and have been running on a fairly regular basis ever since. However, the treadmill takes away one of the only enjoyable things about running from me: fresh air. So why do I do it?
I believe that I am running for the same reason as everyone else out there, unless I have it completely wrong. I need some type of physical activity, and 12-15 minutes on the treadmill is about all I can afford right now. I don't want to look completely gross. I appreciate the way my blood flows after running, and yes those Endorphins are great. But from the moment I lace my shoes and turn the key until the moment I can finally hit the bright red STOP button, all I can hear is the pounding of my shoes and the screaming of my heart in my eardrums. There is nothing pleasant about quickly slamming my feet down in front of each other while the belt is rolling underneath me, and all I can do is look at the timer and count down the seconds until it will all be over. And that is why I hate running so much.
I would appreciate it if runners would wear a more honest T-shirt, such as I love Endorphins, or I love to be outside so I put up with the torture of running, or I want to look good in jeans, have more energy and overcome fatigue and depression, so I endure everything awful that goes along with the act of running. That one might need small print on the front and back of the shirt, but at least it would be more sincere, in my humble opinion.
I admire the dedication and commitment to a “sport” that is being “enjoyed” by millions of people of all ages. I actually spent a few minutes reading comments, stories, and advice on runnersworld.com the other day. It was very entertaining. My favorite section contained a discussion on how to run in freezing and icy conditions. The runners were telling each other about special metal spiked pins to put in their running shoes to keep from slipping on the ice, along with ways to overcome the burning sensation that accompanies running in sub-zero temperatures. I resisted the urge to comment on the discussion, but so many thoughts were running through my head. Do these people truly "love" running enough to drive spikes into their Saucony's and/or "work through" the burning and freezing pain in their lungs? Or, more appropriately, is it those pesky addictive Endorphins and the guilt and motivation of going 3 days without a run?
These thoughts are not coming from someone who dislikes all physical activity. I played sports competitively from the time I was in grade school through my 4th year of college. I put in as many hours playing basketball to maintain my college scholarship as most people who had part-time jobs. I loved scrimmaging and some of the competitive drills and anything that had to do with shooting, but during the first few weeks of conditioning every season I had to create a happy place. My teammates and I fought for positions by racing around the outdoor track and running from baseline to baseline on the court until we were physically sick. Everyone hated conditioning—running until we couldn't breathe, spraining our ankles and tearing our ACL's among other things.
I did not play basketball because I loved running and sprinting and jumping rope for two or more hours, only to scramble across campus to shovel large amounts of food in my starving body before the cafeteria closed. I played because I knew that in October we would have our first scrimmages and games and we would all be in good enough shape that we would only need to maintain everything that we had worked so hard to accomplish. And more than that I played because it was fun. It was fun to play a competitive team sport with close friends who played hard and made each other better players, and better people; I still consider many of those teammates some of my closest friends today.
After graduation, when I moved South and was officially done with competitive sports forever, I thought I would take up running as a way to stay in shape and be healthy. It was a lot easier and quicker than the other athletic alternatives, and everyone I knew seemed to be training for a Triathlon or at the very least a Half-Marathon. I had always hated running, but this was going to be a new beginning—a new alliance between us.
I bought some new running shoes and found a few running friends. It was August in South Carolina and the first night I thought the humidity was going to drown me and my new shoes in a thick, spongy cloud of H2O. I scampered to keep up and make conversation while all I could hear was the pounding of my lead feet on the blacktop. I kept running on a fairly consistent basis outside for a few years although I never adjusted to the humidity, and I don't think I ever will.
Eight years and a few arthritic knees and ankles later, I accepted the fact that a buoyant, forgiving treadmill is probably the best way to go for me, which is the first sign that I am not a true runner at all. I bought the treadmill over a year ago and have been running on a fairly regular basis ever since. However, the treadmill takes away one of the only enjoyable things about running from me: fresh air. So why do I do it?
I believe that I am running for the same reason as everyone else out there, unless I have it completely wrong. I need some type of physical activity, and 12-15 minutes on the treadmill is about all I can afford right now. I don't want to look completely gross. I appreciate the way my blood flows after running, and yes those Endorphins are great. But from the moment I lace my shoes and turn the key until the moment I can finally hit the bright red STOP button, all I can hear is the pounding of my shoes and the screaming of my heart in my eardrums. There is nothing pleasant about quickly slamming my feet down in front of each other while the belt is rolling underneath me, and all I can do is look at the timer and count down the seconds until it will all be over. And that is why I hate running so much.
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