I hate running. I have always hated it, and I have always assumed I always will. I am sorry to anyone who’s tried to go on a run with me over the years, thinking that I am a healthy person who does cardio, only to find out that I am extremely slow and that after a mile or so I become inexplicably angry and I start to punch leaves. What can I say, I’m a yoga person.
My favorite thing about running: tank tops that say “I hate running.”
The other day I was doing intervals on a treadmill, which gave me 60 full seconds at a time to analyze why I might hate the feeling of running so much. All I could come up with was that it felt like my body was being tickled all over. It wasn’t necessarily pain, so much as it was discomfort. My lungs don’t hurt, I’m not cramping. My body is just… uncomfortable? Like all my neurons are firing so fast and hard all at once, and the sensation is too much for me. Just a theory, I honestly don’t know. One time a massage therapist thought she was hurting me when actually she was just tickling the fuck out of me, and she sighed and said “well everyone experiences pain differently.”
I told this running theory to my boyfriend, who is someone who has seen me punch a leaf just after the one mile marker, and he said that this has always surprised him, because based on everything he knows about me, I would be an excellent long distance runner. I agree with that, and think that maybe I just haven’t really tried. Maybe, like so many other things in my life, I just didn’t push through the discomfort.
I think I am much more used to being stuck. In my stress dreams, I am always stuck. It feels like I am walking through mud. Or I am running like a cartoon, but someone is holding onto the back of my shirt.
Last night, in my dream, I was dressed like Mary Poppins, eating a popsicle in the rain, and walking down Fulton Street. I was crying, because every tiny step was so exhausting, which often happens in my stress dreams. And then all of a sudden, I was running. In fact, I ran so far that when I finally looked up, I no longer recognized my neighborhood. Yes, in the Mary Poppins costume, which was now stained with popsicle juice. I was in a new neighborhood, but it was more like a ghost town, and suddenly I was scared. Also, I was irritated, because it was so hard for me to get where I was going, and then I went too far, and now I have to turn around and do it all again.
So I got my ass out of bed because I hate those dreams!
I hate being stuck. But right now, in my life, I kind of am. And I am looking for a way to feel the wind in my hair. PS I shaved part of my head. Because: feeling stuck?
For exactly 11 seconds I wondered if maybe I should run everyday for 30 days. Maybe if I did it consistently, it would become a habit, and I would work through my intense hatred of it. But honestly, no. I don’t want to.
Instead, I choose writing. Something thoughtful and complete. That’s what I want to do everyday for 30 days. On this blog. Starting now.