Waking up before the sun breaks the seal of a brand new day. Dressing up in the garb of choice to battle the endeavour of the morning. Filling a bottle with a concoction of protein powder and water, before lacing up your running shoes and heading out the front door for a pre-dawn five mile jog before heading into the office for eight more hours of torture. I can picture it, but I cannot fathom the joy or choice to run for fun. It's an alien concept.
I've always been surprisingly fast for my size and shape. I've had people challenge me in the past to race to the car or whatever, then be flabbergasted as my fat ass left them in the dust. Unfortunately, those were in my younger years, while these days, arthritic knees and ankles in addition to prior spinal injuries pretty much prevents me from running at all. When I am rushed, what results tends to look more like a wounded animal stumbling out of the brush than anything that resembles running.
I understand that it's fitness oriented, which is another practice that I avoid. When forced to workout, in the past, whenever I had to rehabilitate an injury, I enjoyed it to a point, but after a couple hours of repeating the same actions, it became more of an annoyance than rehabilitating. I've often had those "if I win the lottery" moments where I speculated that I would put a gym in my house, but in reality, would it be used or would that just end up being a space left ignored? If I'm to be honest, I probably would use the facility if it were in the house, but even then, you'd never see my fat ass bouncing left and right as I ran on a treadmill. Low impact or not, my knees would not hold up.
An early morning jog on the beach looks kind of refreshing, but again, unless you live there, it seems contrived. Not only does one need to repeat the steps mentioned in the first paragraph, but now you have to add driving to a destination to execute your morning running ritual. That's like the last walk of a prisoner headed to his own execution. There has to be an air of resistance to the concept. A detour into an early morning drive-thru to pick up all the things that your diet prevents you from having, like for instance, joy. At this point, though, I can only imagine that your brain is operating on the default setting and there isn't much thinking going on. You're just running on autopilot.
It is of my belief or creed, if you will, that one should reserve the practice of running for only emergencies, like being chased by a dog or wild animal. Granted, they're more likely able to chase you down, but at least you have the chance to get away, plus the elevated heartrate will aid in emptying your body of blood, while the wild beast devours you. So there's that advantage to running, I suppose. 🤔
Anytime I've witness people running, I've never once noticed a smile of anyone's face. They chose, after all, to wake up at that ungodly hour. They chose to run out in the brisk morning air. They chose all the torture they inflict on themselves, so yes. Why smile at that? If you do cross paths with anyone who is smiling while they're running, chances are they are a deranged lunatic and I hope all this running you've been doing, has prepared you to sprint for your life before Smiley-pants knocks you over the head and drags you into a nearby bush. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is that overjoyed while running.
If you're an athlete, then of course, running is necessary, but only in short bursts. Running for hours and hours in say, a marathon, is completely mental. Both in execution of the task and borderline insanity. I don't know if I've ever been that overjoyed to do anything of the like. Like I've previously stated, it's an alien concept. I can't wrap my head around it. I can't understand the why, even after listening to countless people about the "benefits".
I'm at a stage in my life where people around me are beginning to enter the twilight of their lives. Aunts and uncles, friends and colleagues, are being diagnosed with conditions or inflictions or even dying, despite having lead healthy lives filled with exercise and good dietary habits. Nowadays, when I hear that someone has passed away, the first thought that enters my mind, isn't that of sorrow or despair, but rather I think to myself, "They exercised and ate right and they still died. I guess that means I don't have to do any of that, because I have the same odds of survival, regardless." Kind of psychotic, when you think about it, but nevertheless factual. I haven't ventured into a gym for a couple of years and that little endeavour ended with re-aggravating an old shoulder injury.
The only running I see in my future is the one I make on my deathbed. When I see that bright light open in the sky, that's when I'll make a break for it. I'm deceivingly fast for a fat guy and I want to sprint through those Pearly Gates before they realize they fucked and I was supposed to head "south". No take-backsies.
The only truly accurate depiction of an early morning jogger.
