That old pair of jeans
I do a lot of thinking when I'm running.
There isn't much else to do when you're running really, especially if you're running alone.
While I was out running today, I was thinking about writing, and writing about running.
I've never really written about running. Occasionally I'll write about my injuries, or wanting to get fitter, but not really the actually act of running.
I wouldn't know where to start.
Which is strange, for someone who knows running so well.
Maybe it's because not many other people understand running.
So many people say they hate it (You don't hate it, you're just unfit, if you were trained, perhaps it would be a different story.)
And I get that, I do.
Whenever I've been out for an injury and I have to try and get back into it, it's hell.
The cold wind rushes past you, your ears and lungs burn, you try not to concentrate on your breathing but it just gets worse.
But once you're a little more conditioned, something about it becomes great.
Your thought process slows down as you fatigue and keep pushing yourself, but you almost think clearer; you think about the important things.
I've used running for many things. Running for me has been an anti-depressant, a punishment, a relaxant, a means of control, a way of strengthening myself physically and mentally, a coping mechanism, a way to socialise, a hangover cure, a way to challenge myself and just as something to enjoy.
I guess there's something about getting out there and smashing myself.
That's why it's destressing for me.
It's masochistic, I guess.
Running until it's hard to breathe, your chest burns and your diaphragm hates you, until your legs get heavy but you just push harder.
And there's just something awesome about being fit.
I look forward to running a lot over the holidays, and entering many races.
There isn't much else to do when you're running really, especially if you're running alone.
While I was out running today, I was thinking about writing, and writing about running.
I've never really written about running. Occasionally I'll write about my injuries, or wanting to get fitter, but not really the actually act of running.
I wouldn't know where to start.
Which is strange, for someone who knows running so well.
Maybe it's because not many other people understand running.
So many people say they hate it (You don't hate it, you're just unfit, if you were trained, perhaps it would be a different story.)
And I get that, I do.
Whenever I've been out for an injury and I have to try and get back into it, it's hell.
The cold wind rushes past you, your ears and lungs burn, you try not to concentrate on your breathing but it just gets worse.
But once you're a little more conditioned, something about it becomes great.
Your thought process slows down as you fatigue and keep pushing yourself, but you almost think clearer; you think about the important things.
I've used running for many things. Running for me has been an anti-depressant, a punishment, a relaxant, a means of control, a way of strengthening myself physically and mentally, a coping mechanism, a way to socialise, a hangover cure, a way to challenge myself and just as something to enjoy.
I guess there's something about getting out there and smashing myself.
That's why it's destressing for me.
It's masochistic, I guess.
Running until it's hard to breathe, your chest burns and your diaphragm hates you, until your legs get heavy but you just push harder.
And there's just something awesome about being fit.
I look forward to running a lot over the holidays, and entering many races.
Comments