A friend teased me, saying dismissively, “You think going for a run is the answer to everything.”
It’s bugged me ever since, because, well, it’s true.
Yesterday I woke up blue. Maybe it was the weather, maybe I was fighting a bug, but I woke up despondent. I had a headache. I wanted to curl up on the couch and watch TV and eat cake.
The last thing I wanted to do was go for a run.
So I did.
It’s like a magic fucking pill. I felt so much better afterwards — more energy, positive, resilient.
All I had to do was put on those shoes and go.
Years ago, I tore a quote out of a Title Nine catalog and have kept it taped to my computer monitor. It bugs me that a piece of marketing is so inspiring, but whatever:
A fit woman is fit for everything.
I want to be fit for everything. So I run.
The thing is, I don’t really like to run. Occasionally, it’s awesome — like running in the woods with Megan — but most of the time I’m thinking about being done. I just like how I feel afterwards.
I was talking with a friend who actually does like to run. We were sitting in the grim, gray cubicles of Amazon years ago, and he said, “Going for a run is always the right decision.”
It always is. (Unless you just had surgery on your toe, as my partner who just had surgery on his toe pointed out after reading this.)