Why I Run

Someone once asked me, “Why do you run?” with the kind of disdain usually associated with no-bake quinoa cookie-eating, vegan dog-owning, Blue Bottle Coffee-drinking, newly transplanted hipsters with $2000 cruelty-free, recyclable bicycles (except she was none of those – though she did ride her foldable bike everywhere and admitted to not being able to run a mile without feeling winded).

I run because running makes me feel strong and powerful. Should you threaten me physically, I can’t beat you to a pulp, but I can run away from you) you brainless, violent Neanderthal.)

I run because lasting longer is more important than being faster. (*wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*)

I run because isn’t it thrilling to push your boundaries and test your limits? We all do it when we’re children, fake-crying at the store and doing exactly what our mothers said not to. Running longer faster is my way of finding out how much I can get away with. And, like any cheeky child, the more I try, the better I get at it. The better I get at it, the more I can do.

Which is why I am so FRIGGIN’ EXCITED to run my first marathon at the end of this month. I know it’s totally clichĂ© – a before-30 goal, a bucket list item – but it’ll be SO WORTH IT. I can only imagine the feeling of accomplishment that comes with crossing the finish line after four hours of left-foot-right-foot left-foot-right-foot; I bet it’s like becoming the managing copywriter for PartyCity.com, but with a more appropriate reason for a ten o’clock beer.

So, it’s with equal disdain that I react to that question – especially when the asker is surprised my reason is not to stay skinny. I run because I love the feeling of accomplishment. I run because you can’t and assume that I can’t too. I run because I push my boundaries and I can confidently rely on my feet to take me where I want to go, no matter how far.

I got my bib number in my inbox last week. I CANNOT. FRIGGIN’. WAIT.

The end.

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