A few days ago, for whatever reason, I decided to go for a run. I put on my shorts, tank top, and tennis shoes and walked outside into the intense, blazing heat. “Why am I doing this?” I asked myself as I reached the end of my driveway. Without coming up with an answer, I put in my headphones and started jogging down the street. “Work” by Rihanna was playing in my ears, my feet were pounding the road, and the sun was shining bright.
A few minutes into my run I could feel the sweat pooling on my back and chest. “Why am I doing this?” I kept thinking to myself. My workout pump-up Pandora station was still playing through my headphones but I was not feeling very “pumped up." However, I kept on running, continuing my loop around my neighborhood, still unsure of why I was running it in the first place.
About halfway into my run, my feet began to burn. The black roads were so hot I felt like I might as well be running on the sun. By this point, my legs were starting to throb. My muscles trembling, my joints aching, I asked myself again, “Why am I doing this? What is the point of putting myself through such torture?” But I was unable, still, to figure out a response and kept on through my loop.
After I realized that my music was obviously not going to motivate me, I began to think of other things to take my mind off of my self-inflicted agony. Since I strangely decided to run at noon, there were lots of cars passing in and out of my neighborhood. They would pass and I would throw up the polite wave, trying not to show that I was gasping for air. With a flushed face and sweaty hair, I tried to seem as athletic and graceful as possible. “Why am I doing this? This has got to be the ugliest, saddest, awkwardest attempt at a run. Why am I doing this?” Even after the various embarrassing encounters I faced, I still did not know why I was running but kept on trekking.
At this point, my run had gradually transformed into a walk-bounce. My strides were shrinking, my breaths were thinning, and my muscles were pounding. But, “It’s OK,” I thought. I was nearing the end of my loop and hoping the length of it would reach my naive goal of an hour-long run. The aches in my knees, the soreness in my quads, and the tightness in my calves were all I could think about. “Why did I do this to myself?” I asked myself again. I was finally nearing the end of my loop and I began to softly smile through my rough pants for air. Setting my sights on my mailbox and driveway I focused and pushed myself to finish my loop, confident of my goal. Arriving at the end of my loop I checked my watch to see the time. A regretful expletive escaped my mouth as I saw it had only been 35 minutes. “How? How was that just half an hour? How? Why did I do this?” I thought to myself, yet again.
Concluding my loop did not help me find an answer to my question of why I went running. Instead, it left me with an aching body and a much sweatier shirt. As I finally slowed down to a walk, after what felt like an eternity, I decided that 35 minutes was enough running for the day. I dragged myself inside to reach the haven of air condition and cool water and I asked myself again why I went on that run. Honestly, I do not think I will ever figure out why I put myself through such torture.
