Saturday, 17 April 2010

Running = happiness


I was asked to write about one thing that makes me happy in creative writing class this week, and came up with the following.


Running for me, is like a hit of red bull and chocolate without the ingested stimulants of caffiene and calories. I don't profess to be good. What does being good at running mean? I guess being fast. Not stopping to walk or attempt breath. Having a technique of some sort. Owning bespoke trainers approved by a retail outlet which requires running amongst shoppers for a stride assessment. None of these things apply to me. My main aim when I run is to put one foot infront of the other and keep going. Music blasts from my iPod, overwhelming the voice in my head which tells me I'm weary or bored and can't go any further.

I have an out of body experience at first, my limbs seemingly at odds with the order my brain is giving them. The actual motion recognised as running does not come easily. My legs are leaden, my lungs lack space. I stop and walk. I change the track I'm listening to for a louder, more drumm-y, bass-y one. I start running again. It gets easier. I stop and stretch. I look at my surroundings, and realise my disposition has brightened. I am able to run continuously, more easily, albeit slowly. I turn the iPod up to thunderous proportions which spurs me on. I am euphoric. My body is capable of running, itself a physical achievement (to me). The act of running also has a chemical consequence which I can't explain or show in a hold-out-in-my-hand kind of way, but I know I am happier now that I've done it.

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