It is the best addiction I can think of. Gambling, alcohol, pornography, tobacco, shopping are all bad. Running is superbly, staggeringly good.
I’m uncoordinated. I can’t pass, kick, throw, catch, dribble or do the backstroke but as long as I can get my shoes tied, I can run.
My dad didn’t. He had a heart attack at age 52. I’m running from high cholesterol and keeping a spare tire from growing over my belt.
I’m a book lover. I load five or six audio books onto my iPod and listen to Grisham, Clancy or even Dostoyevsky as I run. I’ve sometimes put in several extra miles in order to solve the mystery.
It cures my depression. Kids, my teenage daughter’s cell phone bill, my boss, a broken dishwasher, the mother-in-law, phone calls, bird flu and global warming are all forgotten on a long run.
I’m a mathematician. If I run 5 miles at a 7:40 pace and then slow to an 8:25 pace for the next 4 miles what will be my total time? Then what is the most fun, charting my pace and miles on the computer.
I love to cook (and eat). A 15 mile run burns 2000 calories. What that means is that I can eat twice as much as most people and still fit into my jeans.
I’m an insomniac. There is no finer way to spend the 2 AM hour than go for a run under a full moon and then go back to bed. (Yes, my wife makes me shower first.)
I believe in God. Running for hours in the mountains of Wyoming or even through the sagebrush reaffirms my belief in a Creator that loves me.
My friends hate to run. I love them dearly, but if any of them wanted to invade the euphoric joy I get from a run alone, I’d have to get new friends.