There are people who run, and people who don’t.
Many of the people who don’t run find it relatively difficult to understand why the people who run, run. For those who don’t run, the idea of willingly submitting one’s self to such perceived torture is unfathomable. Why do it? Why make the effort? Why running?
I remember a conversation I had with the leader of my running group about a year ago. We were talking about running, and the motivations we each had for it. As a seasoned walker just dipping my feet in the world of running, she said something that somehow surprised me a great deal: “I don’t like running, actually” she said, “but it’s the feeling you get from it that I’m addicted to.”
I didn’t understand what she meant at first. And maybe, as a person who doesn’t run, you don’t either. While I can’t explain the feeling, I can tell you one thing: There is simply nothing like the rush you get after a good run. It doesn’t matter if your dog just died, your boyfriend just broke up with you or if a car just sped by and sprayed dirty slush over every inch of your being—regardless of your circumstances, you will still feel ridiculously, unexplainably giddy after.
And for the days when it’s grey and stormy outside, and you can come up with a hundred and one reasons not to hit the pavement, you’ll think back to the moment when you first felt the rush; the feeling of pure, unadulterated happiness, and you’ll go outside. You’ll brave the wind, the snow, the rain, or the heat—you’ll brave it all—because when you’ve played on the beach, you don’t ever want to go back to the sandbox.
Why do I run?
Because it’s like crack, only better.