I've been running a lot lately, but I hesitate to call myself a runner. Runners are, in my mind, an elite group; a people of scars and gruesome stories of pulled hamstrings and, at the the very least, thin, toned legs. I certainly don't have the legs thing down (see the infamous "skinny jeans" ordeal), I've never pulled a hamstring, and the closest thing I've gotten to running-related scars are the gashes I seem to always take out while shaving so that my legs are fit for gym shorts.
But the other morning, when I found myself getting up at 5:45am to run four miles before work, I entertained the thought...could I possible be a runner?
I think it all comes down to motivation. Mine is mainly food, specifically, the ability to eat more of it. Not for personal achievement, not for a challenge and not even for health. No sir, I run in the name of gluttony.
Give me some more time.
2 comments:
you're a runner.
you mis-spelled achievement
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