On Why I Run

Running is one of those activities I love and hate. I love the way I feel right before a run, like anything is possible, and I can fly. I love the way I feel right after, heart pounding out of my chest, sweat pouring down my forehead, lop-sided grin on my face. I’m finished! The whole in-between though is rough. Feet pounding the pavement, each step a little harder, elevated heart rate, panting for air, visualizing the next big hill, groaning inside and out. It sounds a bit like torture, right? And it is, but it’s that addictive kind of torture that somehow propels me out of bed two times a week to do it over again, always with the hope of breaking my previous best.

Today, I did it (well we did it, as Chris runs with me on Sundays, but he is way faster than me so this is just him being a sweetie)! I ran 6.1 miles in 47 minutes flat. Personal Record set. Time for celebration, and celebration = a big ole’ egg sandwich with spinach and three kinds of cheese.

Before a run I feel like I can do anything, and after an egg sandwich this good, I feel the exact same way!


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