“The course of true love never did run smooth,” William Shakespeare once said—about running probably.
While it's true that we runners love running, it's also not untrue that we sometimes hate running, too. It's enigmatic that way, chock full of peaks and valleys—both literal and figurative; both real and imagined.
On any given Sunday, well-meaning runners across the world are enduring psychological warfare with no tangible opponent, leaving each of us to navigate these erratic and unforgiving waters amid a series of emotions akin to the five stages of grief.
It looks something like this:
Denial
- It's so beautiful outside.
- This is going to be awesome.
- God, these shoes look cool.
- I bet the neon yellow makes me look fast.
- I feel fast!
- [Looks at watch]
- That can't be right.
- Six miles is just three miles twice, really.
- Three miles isn't even a 5K.
- [One mile... completed.]
- Nice. Five to go.
- But, really, it's just 4.98 to go, so it's basically four to go.
- And, also, the three miles twice thing—so I'm, what, like a mile from half-way?
- Why is Beyonce so great?
- This woman with the stroller is kind of staring me down.
- Don't worry, ma'am, I'm not a baby snatcher.
- Wait, that's not a baby. Is that...
- A PUUUPPPPYYYYY!! HI PUPPY!
- ...timeout. She was pushing her dog in a stroller..?
- I can't wait to eat.