Yay! It was the Pittsburgh Great Race, a 10K trek through the streets of da Burgh, and I was in it at 9:30 this morning.
As I ran past the CMU pep band, Pitt Bagpipe Band, and Eat n Park Smiley Cookie, though, I couldn’t help but think, Why am I doing this?
I seriously don’t see why anybody would run. I’m on the Cross Country team at school, and I don’t think I’ve EVER seen moral as low as before a meet. People just sitting around, saying “Why the hell am I doing this?” And “I hope I break my leg, so I don’t have to run,” and “I wish I had cancer. Then I wouldn’t have to run.”
I’ve never talked to anyone who has liked running. I mean, sure, the benefits are great, and it keeps you in shape, but, does anybody enjoy the process? What keeps people coming back, time after time, putting themselves through it with no provocation?
My dad, cheezeball that he is, has an interesting theory, which is also one of his favorite quotes. “Running,” he says, “Is like hitting your head against a wall. It feels so good when you stop.” True, but I have another theory.
Running is a disease. Completely incurable, and, though beneficial, very painful. It’s the only explanation, from what I can see. Once you catch it, you’re a runner for life, and everybody is left baffled by your sado-masochist tendencies.
I’ve got the bug for sure, anybody else?