Okay- I’m putting this out there now. If you tell me that you actively enjoy going for runs, then I will automatically check the box in my head, that says you’re just a little bit weird.
Look- I’m sorry! I can’t help it.
Honestly? I only think that it’s weird because there is not one single bone in my body that can understand how people can get enjoyment out of it.
I don’t understand how you can motivate yourself to get out there in the cold, or onto a treadmill and pound away with that horrible burning pain in your chest, with sweat dripping into your eyes… it just ain’t right.
The total irony of this fuck is that I’ve also been determined to be the kind of person who likes and is good at running, but finally- I admit defeat.
I hate it.
I admit openly to the internet, that every time I have posted an Instagram of my trainers, or the nice lil view I got on top of a hill after ‘running’ (panting and dying) up it- I have been lying through my teeth.
I want to be the person who can do a marathon. I admire people so much who have the perseverance, the determination and the strength to do it- but after 23 years of trying, I’m going add this one to my ‘fuck it’ budget.
I’m not going to lie anymore and pretend like I’m enjoying even a second of it on social media. I no longer give any fucks about being able to run a marathon- and going into 2018, I resolve to never pretend that it’s something I’m good at again.