When running is hidden as part of a sport, such as tennis or basketball, it’s fine. I don’t really notice it. But going for a run just for the sake of running? Ick. When have you ever passed a runner who wasn’t grimacing as if in pain? Ever passed one who was actually smiling? I rest my case.
Yet in a recent lapse of judgment, I put myself on a strict run-18-miles-a-week plan and have stuck to it for over 6 weeks. I have no plans to do a marathon or anything crazy, and will experience my own brand of shock-and-awe if it continues much longer.
But where’s the high, people?
I was complaining to my brother-in-law about this, explaining that I’d recently completed a 6-mile run—my first—and wanted the promised euphoria, which didn’t occur. I mean, come on, why else do this?
With a grin, he said, “Oh. That happens in mile 7.”