My wife has the only psychosis that I envy. She loves to run.
That’s not entirely true.
She needs to run. In the same way that I need oxygen and Facebook needs your phone number, she runs.
I’ve gone running before. There’ve been a few times in my life where I was running two or three miles a few times a week. I was happy that I was doing it, but doing it was the worst.
Maybe I didn’t get myself to the point of runner’s high. Or I might have an irreversible bad attitude about running. In any case, it didn’t stick, and I don’t have any plans to make running a regular part of my life again.
When I started weight training in 2015, I finally felt like I was enjoying exercise. I’ve been at it 5 or 6 days a week since then. I really like it. Which means that it’s not exercise that I don’t like. I’m not lazy. Mostly.
It’s just that I really don’t like running.
I don’t like it.
It feels empowering to say it.
Say it with me…
I DON’T LIKE RUNNING.
Put the handclap emoji in between every word like you MEAN it.
I. DON’T. LIKE. RUNNING.
And that’s OK.
Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t like running. I wish that I did.
Just don’t be exercise normative.
And stop closing the whole city to run 5k.