Whenever I tell someone that I'm training for a marathon, I often get the same response. A cock of the head and a skeptical look that says, "Good luck with that, you damn fool." I think this is because many people view running as torture and something to be avoided at all costs. They're right. It is torture. It sucks, and I hate it. I hate being drenched in my own sweat on warm mornings and having hands that are blocks of ice for 4 straight months in winter. I hate gasping for air while running up a steep hill and the random upset stomach that can occur on any run at any time. I hate the bumps and bruises that constantly pop up and cause me to walk like a geriatric. Early morning runs are no picnic either. I'm a bit of a morning person for sure, but no matter how accustomed a person is to early mornings, an alarm clock going off at 5 am is always a kick to the crotch.
But I continue to run because I love it. More than anything I've ever done. I love it because it clears my head and puts me at ease. You do a lot of thinking while on a run, but it's never stressful thinking. No matter what, it's just you and the road. I love how running lets me explore every new city I visit in a way that I couldn't otherwise. I love that I can eat pizza and drink beer with impunity knowing that those calories will be burned the next day. I love that I sleep so well because I run and those rare days when it feels like I could run as far and as fast as I want and never get tired. Plus, it's the perfect cure for a mild hangover. And then there are runs like this morning. My girlfriend and my best friend (of the dumb, 4-legged variety) joined me on the trails in the hills above Boise. The sun was rising, the world was empty, and there was no place else I wanted to be.
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