Running

I really like the idea of exercise, especially running. The other day on a school trip my friend and I realized that our hotel had a gym. Mind you, it was a measly little trashcan of a gym with two treadmills (one of which didn't even have a phone holder), a stair stepper, a bike and some weights in a fairly small and musty room. But I didn't really care because putting on my exercise clothes and turning on my running playlist was enough for me to feel like I was in an episode of the Carrie Diaries, even though I was cursing myself with every step I took and also the part where I was not Carrie. No, I was one of her cool friends that live in the City that also happens to work out even on vacation and ultimately steals Austin Butler's character away from Carrie because of her toned physique due to hotel gym exercise. But the reality of this physical blasphemy didn't involve me being a man-stealer but rather a dream crusher.

I don't think people understand that even though I look like I haven't sweat in 13 years, I am actually a pretty athletic person...or at least I used to be. I played basketball all throughout elementary and middle school, tennis on the side and soccer over the summer just for fun one year. I don't hate sports. I like basketball because you have to do minimum three things at one time: set your feet, don't stay in the paint too long, get open, screen, remember the play, just kidding it fell apart, rebound. whatever, I'm getting dramatic you get the point. And with tennis it's a mental game of where you want to hit the ball, how hard, if you actually want to chase after that ball that's going to fall in the opposite corner, how are you going to unlock your inner Serena Williams. As for soccer, I have no idea I was awful at it but it's fun to watch. And sure I had to run to condition for those sports but it never really grew beyond a lull of hatred because I knew there'd have to be a point where we'd get to the good part where I could use my brain. Track was a different story.

Every time I move my legs faster than walking pace I crush my own dreams because honestly I just don't like running just to run. And I especially don't like running around a track aka the lost chapter of Dante's Inferno. I talk to people about why they like running all the time because honestly a little part of me wished I actually liked it and I'm always kind of hoping someone's reason will become my own; however, I am not a sponge so I can't absorb their reasons. Back to the point: I've heard that it relieves stress, it calms people down, it let's them think--essentially running is a poor man's Netflix and popcorn.

This is the only picture of me doing anything track related,
fake smile, ugly uniform and bad hair intact.

The only reason I started running was because my arms were pretty much the same size as my legs starting middle school--I was an actual twig and I read somewhere that you can get less bony legs from running, so I did. But after 7th grade I went back for the 8th grade season to hang out with friends (my legs weren't a huge issue since I stopped being 95 pounds). In 8th grade I was convinced that I would learn to love running if I did it enough, so I kept doing it. I'm pretty sure I got the idea of this do-it-til-you-love-it" mentality from an NPR segment where this man joined the army and ran all the time and one day it stopped being a chore. I am not the man from the NPR segment. I am 17 years old girl with long legs that I use for nothing except for exclusively owning capris (not by choice).

I find running very boring and I don't like having to go through my own thoughts while my throat burns. This is my thought process when I run:
I really just don't get it: am I supposed to keep doing the same thing the whole entire time for nothing? Isn't that what babies do? They want to play peek-a-boo over and over again, and just like peek-a-boo this got boring after the first minute. 

I recently stopped feeling the shin splints and muscle pain I acquired from my fantasy man-stealing and a couple things I know are true:

1. I wanted to break that stupid treadmill into pieces
2. Afterwards I was really surprised that I:

• A) actually finished; and
• B) didn't pass out afterwards
• C) even thought that running would be a good idea

Long story short: no matter what I do I'm going to hate running, it's in my blood, it's in my brain, it's in my heart and I can't change that. My best options are to stop watching reruns of the Carrie Diaries and get over my Henry David Thoreau-like attitude of falling in love with the ~idea~ of things and get real for a quick minute.