on being a writer runner

you know that pause in between asking someone a thoughtful question, and them processing it?

that moment when they’re deeply lost in thought, browsing their options, and you’re sat there eager to hear their answer?

there’s no pause here.

the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and carry on doing, is running.

coincidently, this is typically my only answer to any such questions.

“best thing I’ve ever done?”
running.
“most dangerous thing I’ve ever done?”
running.
“easiest way to make friends and influence people?”
running.

there are a couple reasons to do it,
and a million not to.

I run far past any reasonable utility.

directly, the only way running is ever going to help me in life, is if at some point, someone tries to rob me by chasing me for 10 kilometers at a moderate pace.

indirectly, it’s done more for me than any books, courses and jobs ever did.

the joy of cramps, blisters and sweat.
the pain of finishing.

but such things have little to do with words,
maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to it.

running for me is nostalgia,
nostalgia for a time in which “hard work” was rewarded and taking shortcuts was not an option.

influencers can’t fake it, the rich can’t buy it and haters can’t diminish it.

you either spend the time and work to get good at it, or you don’t.

just like writing,
maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to it.

I love running.
I hate running.
I love running.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

today is day 249 of the year, there are 116 days remaining of 2022.