Runner's porn

Went to the store yesterday and bought two volumes of runner’s porn:  I run, therefore I am—Crazy, and Born To Run by Christopher McDougall.

The first one is a stupid little book full of what seems like running themed newspaper commentary/articles where the guy basically bitches about what he loves about running.

Not at all inspiring.

The problem is that all the little quirks that he loves about running are the things that really bug me about running—the aches, pains, dehydration, delirium, and on and on.  I’m not running because I WANT all that stuff, I’m running so that all that stuff doesn’t happen anymore when I run.  I know, it’s something of a catch-22, because if I just didn’t run I wouldn’t have dead legs and shin splints.  But, then again, if I do run and can condition myself beyond that, I’m all the stronger for it.

I read the first 20 pages, flipped through the rest of the book, now I’m done.

 

The other book, though, is a fascinating story about the Terahumara tribe in Mexico’s Copper Canyon region.  I’m maybe 25 pages in and want to go running tonight.

Yes, I’m actually horny for running, so to speak.  The runner’s porn has done its job.

 

The thing is, I want to want to run.  I don’t like forcing myself to do things, even though I know it’s good for me and I can’t do X unless I first do A – V, whether I want to or not.

Today, however, I find myself actually looking forward to my new shoes I’m going to go shopping for in a week.  I’m looking forward to picking up a few more shirts, and another couple pairs of shorts.

This go around might actually be different.  The switch might actually be flipped.

 

Time will tell.