This Monday, I got to go for a run again. I was expecting euphoria. After two weeks off, this was a long-anticipated event. And it very nearly killed me. I was told to only run 40 minutes a day for this first week back. When I heard that, I was surprised. I typically run around 50 miles a week. 40 minutes a day would probably average out to around 30. "I'll probably end up doing more than that." I told myself. "Running is the best."
Day 1 proved me wrong. Trudging through those five miles, I suddenly realized how people might sometimes hate running. My lungs burned. My sad little legs quivered. I felt like a middle-aged obese asthmatic. And when I got home, I consumed unholy amounts of chocolate and holiday-themed desserts. It was no doubt horrifying to behold. But, for some reason, as I always do, I found myself back on the roads for the rest of the week. That's the great thing about running. It might suck sometimes, but it doesn't suck forever. And 99.9% of the time when it doesn't feel like Satan jabbing your legs with little pitchforks, it is the best feeling in the world.
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