I came. I ran. I died.

Can I make one thing clear?
I do not like to run. I am not one of those people who run for fun, or run because they enjoy it.
I do not get home and lace my trainers up thinking “Whoo! Running time! Let’s go”
Running fills me with dread.
I lace my my trainers and I’m sure every step I take my feet are saying “Fuck this! Why are we doing this again?”

Running does not come easily for me. I am not a graceful runner by any means. Every run is an effort. Every run I feel like I’m dying.
I am constantly battling my mind, there is no inner peace when I run, there is no getting away from the stress of life, to let loose on the pavements because running is a stress for me.

The beauty of hating running though, is every run is an achievement. Every mile I clock I am always ecstatic that I’ve done it because I can’t believe that I managed to get out the door to do it let alone run it!

I’m a lazy runner. My pace is slow. The moment I don’t want to run my feet start dragging, my mind starts to battle with me. “I want to stop, I don’t want to do this any more”
I know, I know but lets just keep on going
“But I don’t want to, lets just stop, its so much easier”
“I can’t do this, I need to stop”
You can do this, stop saying I can’t, just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

If I get this conversation 20minutes into any run, how am I meant to run a half marathon when I can’t even run 20minutes without battling with my brain?

It’s hard.

But that’s what’s going to make this half even more amazing, the fact that I can’t do it, the fact that I find this running thing so difficult, it is going to be so much more of an achievement.

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