You hear it being used all the time. I love that, I love this, I love her, I love him. I love you….
I love running?
There’s something so free about pounding the pavements, choosing whatever speed you want to go, where you’re heading, how long you want to run for. The escape from the indoors, outside, exposed to the elements, sweating in the heat, soaked to the skin, face whipped raw with the wind.
Oh my god, it’s just amazing, and I’m not even one of those runners who can claim to be any good at it either.
It keeps me sane, it keeps me happy.
And yet, I used to hate it with a passion. Cross country was one of the most dreaded activities of the school sporting calendar. Then I started exercising in earnest as a way to deal with my increasing stress levels as A-levels approached. Instead of a slow jog around the village, I was heading up towards the hills and hitting the trails. They weren’t long runs but they were just the right length for me. In London I missed the open emptiness that had characterised my previous runs, but I learnt to love running alongside the river, and the parks. I was spurred on by all the other people out there doing exactly the same thing, and I plucked up the courage to enter my first race.
Now I’m still here, running away, marathon training, and does it feels terrifying! There are always days where I don’t want to drag my legs outdoors, where I say I’d rather zombie out in front of the TV. But in the end, the bug always comes back, and the itch needs to get scratched! Because deep down, I know I love running, and I’m so glad for that first day when I laced up my trainers and headed out of the door.