Running is socially-accepted masochism. I hate running.
Unlike some other running bloggers, running and I have a bit of history. It’s complicated.
When I was young and naive, I ran on my high school team. I did it because I wasn’t athletic enough to do anything besides move in a straight line, and I didn’t have enough concentration to follow any coaching besides “go faster!” during an athletic event.
Toward the end of high school, I got sick of running. Seventeen-year-old me was more interested in social smoking, group dates and playing Mario Tennis than spending 4 hours sitting around a track only to spend a few tumultuous minutes in running’s arms. Running cramped my style so I dumped it. Bad.
I got into basketball during the tail end of high school and throughout college. We went pretty steady, although I would dip into a two-miler every six months or so. Each run was enough to remind me why I cut running loose in the first place, so I stayed away. Upon graduation, I realized having access to basketball would be cumbersome. It fell to the wayside too, leaving a hole in my fitness heart.
I dove head-first into my young career and I didn’t have the time or disposable income to spend on a gym membership. And the next thing I know, I’ve gone two and a half years without regularly exercising.
Enter the mid-twenties freak-out.
After turning 24 last summer, I found myself at a point where I could become a complete lard-o (a la Charles Barkley) or I could hope to recapture just some of the athleticism from my younger years. I bought myself a bike and spent the summer and fall grinding gears.
Little did I know that cycling -- as a mentality -- is merely running with a nose job. Zipping along on a metal pole with wheels is a lot of fun but its neurotic groupies and time-distance-pace hang-ups were so similar to running’s.
I was drawn back.
After years of my girlfriend nagging me to pick up running, I’ve decided to throw down.
I have two goals:
1. Work on avoiding a heart attack.
2. Run a 5K in September without embarrassing myself (ie. sub-23:00).
Bad family medical history makes the first goal ongoing. The second should be easily reached. And who knows, I may end up enjoying this masochist bane.
Follow my training and thoughts as I hurtle haphazardly into the running world.
