Running and I are young and in love. I would never not go Running when Running is a possibility. Every weird little thing that Running does is adorable and endearing to me; Oh, Running, you made me pull a muscle in my knee and endure days of searing pain, you trickster, you!
I’m wondering if there will be a point where I fall out of love with this sport. We’ve been at it nearly a year, now, Running and I. We went through the awkward courting phase (I would wheeze my way through a one-minute run, walk for three minutes, then mutter fuuuuuck under my breath as a revved up for another minute of agony) followed by months spent in delirious puppy love; Running tentatively inhabited my body and I warmed to it over time; I lost weight. I gained speed. I built the endurance to run longer distances and would finish my runs with full-out sprints, laughing and with an idiot’s smile plastered on my face.
Around the tenth month we began to have our differences; Running caused me side pains and foot cramps. Though we worked through those issues things still came to a head when Running socked me in the knee with debilitating pain. One-third of my way through a three-mile run I mulled over the decision to cut it short or hobble on through the discomfort. Against my better judgement I finished the second and third miles, finally whimpering my way to a full stop at the side of the road and admitting to myself that we had a problem, Running and I.
It’s been three days without Running; three days that I’ve counted because I feel the absence so sharply. Three days of icing my knee 'til its chilled to the bone; three days of cringing when I lift my knee; three days of limping until I coax myself to walk normally as I feel the pain subside. Whatever this injury is it’s a minor one, but it’s pulled me away from the hobby I’ve become so fond of and I miss Running in a visceral way. My body needs something that it’s not getting.
The thought of running again makes me feel giddy and excited, and this brings me hope. I like to think that rather than getting bored with one another and letting our relationship go to weed Running and I will fall into a comfortable pattern of cohabitation. I’ll brush my teeth in front of Running and let Running see me in my rattiest pajamas; Running will admit that it has feelings for me, too, and will let down its guards so that I may fully revel in its presence.
It’s in these tenuous times that I realize the depth of my dedication to this thing. Running hurts me; Running threatens to leave me for good and I think don’t leave me, not now; I need you.
I’m wondering if there will be a point where I fall out of love with this sport. We’ve been at it nearly a year, now, Running and I. We went through the awkward courting phase (I would wheeze my way through a one-minute run, walk for three minutes, then mutter fuuuuuck under my breath as a revved up for another minute of agony) followed by months spent in delirious puppy love; Running tentatively inhabited my body and I warmed to it over time; I lost weight. I gained speed. I built the endurance to run longer distances and would finish my runs with full-out sprints, laughing and with an idiot’s smile plastered on my face.
Around the tenth month we began to have our differences; Running caused me side pains and foot cramps. Though we worked through those issues things still came to a head when Running socked me in the knee with debilitating pain. One-third of my way through a three-mile run I mulled over the decision to cut it short or hobble on through the discomfort. Against my better judgement I finished the second and third miles, finally whimpering my way to a full stop at the side of the road and admitting to myself that we had a problem, Running and I.
It’s been three days without Running; three days that I’ve counted because I feel the absence so sharply. Three days of icing my knee 'til its chilled to the bone; three days of cringing when I lift my knee; three days of limping until I coax myself to walk normally as I feel the pain subside. Whatever this injury is it’s a minor one, but it’s pulled me away from the hobby I’ve become so fond of and I miss Running in a visceral way. My body needs something that it’s not getting.
The thought of running again makes me feel giddy and excited, and this brings me hope. I like to think that rather than getting bored with one another and letting our relationship go to weed Running and I will fall into a comfortable pattern of cohabitation. I’ll brush my teeth in front of Running and let Running see me in my rattiest pajamas; Running will admit that it has feelings for me, too, and will let down its guards so that I may fully revel in its presence.
It’s in these tenuous times that I realize the depth of my dedication to this thing. Running hurts me; Running threatens to leave me for good and I think don’t leave me, not now; I need you.
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