You Either Ran Today…
Or You Didn’t.
It’s that fucking simple.
Nobody cares what the weather is. Or what your ass hurts. Or that you really wanted to go to happy hour. Or that your boss looked at you funny. Or that your OMG BOYFRIEND isn’t there to rub your shoulders. Or that your vegan, gluten-free, sugar free, 100% organic, GMO-free cupcake might have been baked in a facility within a square mile from where a dog pissed. (Nobody on Yelp cares about it either, just for the record.)
The thing is, at the end of the day you can either say you went for a run that day…or you didn’t run.
Details aren’t important. Nobody cares that you ran 110 miles last week. Nobody cares that you ran every single mile OMG SO FAST. Nobody cares that you ought to be doing a bit more speed work. Nobody cares about whatever positive bullshit you have to spin to get yourself out there. Nobody about your race weight. Nobody cares that you totally DIDN’T EAT THAT vegan, gluten-free, sugar free, 100% organic, GMO-free cupcake that MIGHT have been baked near where that dog pissed!
You either went for a run…or you didn’t.
Simple, isn’t it?
Your day was busy? You couldn’t make it out there? Okay…that can happen. But it doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t run.
You REALLY need to watch whatever stupid reality show now so you can let your boyfriend watch his OMG SPORT SHOW and he can cum on your tits later so you can’t run? Okay, whatever gets you off…but you still didn’t run.
You made a choice not to run. Enter mental picture of Charlotte from Sex and the City (SHUT UP) all flustered screaming “I CHOOSE MY CHOICE!!!”
(I hate myself for that reference. I really do.)
Sure, sometimes you don’t *choose* not to run. Maybe you’ve got the flu. Or a stress fracture. This does not apply to that. This applies to those days you’re miserable, under fueled and generally not in the mood.
Either you ran…or you didn’t.
This is been the mantra I’ve repeating to myself for weeks now. I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t create it. But it’s the closest thing I’ve got to motivation at this point.
I? Simply do not care.
If I could defer from Boston, I’d have done it already. Mild winter be damned, I don’t want to run right now. I want to sit on my ass and eat fried pickles and drink beer. I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care. Every run is a struggle. I sometimes stop at quarter mile intervals and debate just laying on the ground. It sometimes takes me hours to force myself out the door. I rarely run fast or with any purpose. I just force myself to run. I run past people the the reservoir pounding out repeats. I run behind people in races I used to beat easily. I run past groups of people enjoying the experience and chatting together while I bargain with myself just to get out the fucking door.
But at the end of the day…I’d rather say I ran than I didn’t. Because what IS my excuse? Lack of willpower? Is that good enough, really?
I’ve forced myself to run a number of races. They’ve all been personal worsts for this incarnation of my two decades long career. Not helped by the fact that I’ve run through freak storms resulting in this sort of shit:
But I guess at the end of the day…I can say I ran. And while it’s a stretch to say that’s any sort of accomplishment (it’s not) – at least it’s better than just throwing in the towel entirely.
After all, I’m in shitty shape because of choices I made.
I CHOSE to drink and get fat. I CHOSE to be lazy. I CHOSE to get all whiny and pathetic and not do a damn thing to shake off what should have been a minor injury. I CHOSE to eat like shit and damn nutrition, which has probably resulted in depleted iron stores. I consistently CHOOSE not to improve on any of these habits.
And I CHOOSE to press ahead towards disaster and do nothing to prevent it.
And you know what?
Fuck it. I’m a hobby jogger. It doesn’t matter. I can CHOOSE to not lose the money I’ve sunk into my Boston entry and run anyway. I can CHOOSE to ignore the fact that I will run like shit. I can CHOOSE to fight the competitive urge which reminds me this attitude is stupid and that forging ahead when this disengaged is a recipe for mediocrity.
But at the end of the day, I choose to say FUCK IT. I’ll run like shit, be fat and eat fried pickles.
And it doesn’t fucking matter.
Yes. I choose to run. Because if I don’t…well…it’s that simple, isn’t it?