I had a wonderful, absolutely amazing, calming, easy, relaxing, enjoyable, exciting, feel-good, smiling-the-whole-time run yesterday. It sounds so weird to say, but that 8 mile Wednesday afternoon run was fun and simple and I feel great about it. Most people, me included, 
would think that an 8 mile run is abnormally long, tedious, and a waste of time. Well, maybe not a waste of time if you’re trying to lose weight because you are morbidly obese (like half of America) or training for the Olympics (like 1/10000000th of America) or something, but a waste of time if you are an average person with a job, a social life, and some hobbies outside of running, let alone a family or secret affair to nurture and hide.
For me, yesterday, I was in the zone. I have never really experienced “the zone”, that I know of, so I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it was, but the 8 miles flew by in a breeze of comfortable enjoyment and pleasure, and when I was done I felt like I could have done it again but was perfectly content being finished. The air was clean and it was quiet on the roads I chose; I could hear some birds, excited for the spring, and the soft padding of my feet—nothing else. When I finished, I couldn’t stop smiling and I felt as if I was walking on air. That is how I wish I felt after every run. Sometimes it’s nice to be a little too sweaty and a little too out of breath and wish immediately to have a different shirt to change into; it feels as if you’ve really accomplished something (and can afford calorie-wise to go huge on food later). But this feeling of euphoria I experienced definitely tops that. That magical run really put me at peace and, as cheesy as it sounds, I felt like a runner.
I’m not sure when one becomes a runner—is it like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, wrapped up one minute and free the next? Or is it like a seed, planted months in advance and sprouting slowly as the weather permits? Maybe it’s like a cake and you have to get all the right
ingredients in order, perfectly measured, and then combine them exactly right, stick ‘em in the oven, and wait for the timer to ding. I don’t really know. And I’m certainly not saying I think I am a runner. Runners wear those super loose and short shorts (on men you can almost see their…you know), even when they have jackets and gloves on; runners get up early on Saturdays and run until lunch time; runners are skinny with big calves and tight quads. So no, I don’t consider myself a runner. But it was nice to feel like one.
And then go have a margarita and some cookie dough because I could.
would think that an 8 mile run is abnormally long, tedious, and a waste of time. Well, maybe not a waste of time if you’re trying to lose weight because you are morbidly obese (like half of America) or training for the Olympics (like 1/10000000th of America) or something, but a waste of time if you are an average person with a job, a social life, and some hobbies outside of running, let alone a family or secret affair to nurture and hide.For me, yesterday, I was in the zone. I have never really experienced “the zone”, that I know of, so I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it was, but the 8 miles flew by in a breeze of comfortable enjoyment and pleasure, and when I was done I felt like I could have done it again but was perfectly content being finished. The air was clean and it was quiet on the roads I chose; I could hear some birds, excited for the spring, and the soft padding of my feet—nothing else. When I finished, I couldn’t stop smiling and I felt as if I was walking on air. That is how I wish I felt after every run. Sometimes it’s nice to be a little too sweaty and a little too out of breath and wish immediately to have a different shirt to change into; it feels as if you’ve really accomplished something (and can afford calorie-wise to go huge on food later). But this feeling of euphoria I experienced definitely tops that. That magical run really put me at peace and, as cheesy as it sounds, I felt like a runner.
I’m not sure when one becomes a runner—is it like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, wrapped up one minute and free the next? Or is it like a seed, planted months in advance and sprouting slowly as the weather permits? Maybe it’s like a cake and you have to get all the right
ingredients in order, perfectly measured, and then combine them exactly right, stick ‘em in the oven, and wait for the timer to ding. I don’t really know. And I’m certainly not saying I think I am a runner. Runners wear those super loose and short shorts (on men you can almost see their…you know), even when they have jackets and gloves on; runners get up early on Saturdays and run until lunch time; runners are skinny with big calves and tight quads. So no, I don’t consider myself a runner. But it was nice to feel like one.And then go have a margarita and some cookie dough because I could.
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