Running is addictive

Small confession: I treated myself to a lazy weekend. The weather wasn't great, but that's no excuse. I took the time off because I wanted to lounge around and get some of my own projects completed. As a matter of fact, I haven't gone for a run since last Thursday, when I squeezed out a quick 10K on the threadmill.

I'm not telling you this because I feel guilty (and I do!) - I'm telling you this because I really want to go for a run. I've got all this energy inside me and nothing to do with it, like a hyperactive child in a toy store. Part of me doesn't care about the weather - Go out and run!, says that little voice in my head. Even if it's raining, I still look out at the streets and wonder if I can squeeze in a quick jog - which, for me, now takes around an hour...

'Hyperactive kid' Google search result. It'll do.

This is a totally insane way of thinking. A few weeks ago, I would have slapped myself for thinking like that. Hell, I still could slap myself sometimes. But I keep telling myself that it's all going to be worth it in the end. I'll do something utterly incredible, something I've never done before, an achievement I'll be dining out on for years and years to come.

I think I'm addicted to running, you know. I crave it. I spend my days looking forward to the next one - rain or shine, gym or outdoors. I plan routes in my head. Today on my lunch break, I went for a walk around the park, remembering how damned good it felt to crack fourteen miles the other week. I can't wait to hit my next target. They say exercise is addictive and I'm starting to see what they mean.