Every time I run, I start out with a plan. I have a set number of miles I intend to go, two to two-and-a-half for an easy run, three for a normal one, and five for a long. Sometimes my run unfolds in the best way imaginable, everything feeling perfect right from the start, my feet hitting the ground in sync with my music as I energetically bounce down the street or the belt of the treadmill at my stupid gym.
Sometimes, though--a lot of the time--that's not the case.
Sometimes--a lot of the time--things start out wrong. My gait feels awkward, my breathing doesn't feel right, the playlist I have on isn't working for the tempo my body chose. On days like this, I want to stop almost as soon as I start, so it's on days like this that I always end up doing the same thing:
I lie.
Depending on the distance, the numbers vary a little, but the inner dialogue pretty much stays the same. For the sake of a more thorough simulation, let's have a look at the convo I had during my last long run.
Okay, five miles is not going to happen. Just run for one, and you can make up the miles later in the week.
One.
You've already gone one mile, and you're not ever supposed to run less than two. Just run one more stupid mile, and then you can stop. A workout doesn't even do anything if it doesn't last for twenty minutes. Just keep running.
Two.
One more mile. One more stupid mile, and you can stop. What is that, ten minutes of your stupid life? Go the mile so you do at least three.
Three.
You can't stop in the middle of a song, and this is a pretty long one, so by the time it's over, you'll have gone three and a half. Just run for the rest of this song. It's like you're dancing!
Three and an almost half.
It's stupid to stop at a half. It's five measly minutes. Five minutes! Think about how little five minutes is. Imagine how fast five minutes would go if you were having sex.
Four.
Four miles! You've run four miles. Stopping now would be stupid when you're so close to your goal. Do you know how mad you'll be if you stop now?
Five.
You made it! Aren't you happy that you didn't stop?
***
Sometimes--not always, but a lot--it just doesn't behoove us to tell the truth, even
(especially especially especially especially especially especially)
to ourselves.
Sometimes, though--a lot of the time--that's not the case.
Sometimes--a lot of the time--things start out wrong. My gait feels awkward, my breathing doesn't feel right, the playlist I have on isn't working for the tempo my body chose. On days like this, I want to stop almost as soon as I start, so it's on days like this that I always end up doing the same thing:
I lie.
Depending on the distance, the numbers vary a little, but the inner dialogue pretty much stays the same. For the sake of a more thorough simulation, let's have a look at the convo I had during my last long run.
Okay, five miles is not going to happen. Just run for one, and you can make up the miles later in the week.
One.
You've already gone one mile, and you're not ever supposed to run less than two. Just run one more stupid mile, and then you can stop. A workout doesn't even do anything if it doesn't last for twenty minutes. Just keep running.
Two.
One more mile. One more stupid mile, and you can stop. What is that, ten minutes of your stupid life? Go the mile so you do at least three.
Three.
You can't stop in the middle of a song, and this is a pretty long one, so by the time it's over, you'll have gone three and a half. Just run for the rest of this song. It's like you're dancing!
Three and an almost half.
It's stupid to stop at a half. It's five measly minutes. Five minutes! Think about how little five minutes is. Imagine how fast five minutes would go if you were having sex.
Four.
Four miles! You've run four miles. Stopping now would be stupid when you're so close to your goal. Do you know how mad you'll be if you stop now?
Five.
You made it! Aren't you happy that you didn't stop?
***
Sometimes--not always, but a lot--it just doesn't behoove us to tell the truth, even
(especially especially especially especially especially especially)
to ourselves.
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