Why Am I Running?
Yesterday, during one of those torrential downpours that only happen when you live in peninsular and swampy Florida, I went out running. This wasn’t a logical course of action really, but of course, I’m hardly a logical creature. I went running because Wednesday is a running day. And I don’t skip running days. I’ve got the chafing and the muscle soreness to prove it.
I’m not really sure why I’m running. Allyson has asked me as much several times recently. I’m running because I’m running. There are a thousand subverbal reasons that I don’t even properly know even as I’m acting on them. I don’t like running, or at least I haven’t historically. I used to run in high school, and I hated every sweaty step. Nonetheless, I’m out there running around campus every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for my 5K training program. I’m running because I want to prove to myself that I really can. I’m running because I’d like to play football with my kids someday. I’m running because I’d like increased odds of living longer so that I can program more code, write more articles, play more video games, and have more sex. I’m running because I wanted one of those geeky GPS running watches. I’m running because it makes losing weight that much easier. All of these and none of these explain why. I’m running because I’m running. No one—even me—really enters into it.
I have a history of acting on intuition, that vague feeling that tells me that I know more than I understand logically. This is one of those times.