I run not because I have loved running since childhood. I actually used to enjoy cycling as a kid more than anything.
It isn’t because running is ingrained into by being by years of habit.
I run mainly because I love chicken wings. And steak. And don’t forget french fries, cooking with butter, and chocolate.
I could eat salads for lunch and dinner. I do eat fruits and veggies, don’t get me wrong. But if I am in the mood for tacos, I enjoy eating tacos. It’s just I enjoy eating them with a side of tortilla chips, salsa, and sour cream. And maybe a beer.
So I run. I run to fit into my clothes. I run to not scare young children if I put on a swimsuit.
Usually running is something I look forward to doing. I’ll get up really early with the Country Boy and get my 5 miles in before the dog/girls need me. I actually love the feeling of having a long run in when other people are just waking up.
But when Friday comes around, the dread begins. I need to do my “long run”. Right now, that is 12 miles. Next week, 13. My goal is to push up to 16 before bringing it back down prior to a half marathon in June.
After the first mile, I’ll be great. But right now, with running gear on and the prospect of two hours of running (my treadmill won’t work faster than 6 mph without stopping randomly, so that’s my pace), I am thinking that eating only salads might be the way I want to go to stay healthy in the future.
Of course, if you talk with me at the end of my run, I’ll probably say I’m glad I ran.
And tell you that we’re having chicken wings for dinner.