"I’d rather run than drive pretty much anywhere"
Dispatches from rushed Marathon Training
I’ve
never liked driving. One reason I live in Barcelona
is because I can exist as a regular functioning adult without access to a car. On
the rare occasion that I do drive I am terrified and tense. It’s not a pleasant
experience; it’s actually very taxing both mentally and physically. So, I’ve
decided that when I’m doing a long run and start to feel tired or bored or that
hellish combination of both, I should just be thankful that I’m running and not
driving. I should think of my brother who drives 24 hours from the Deep South to the Mid Atlantic, or truckers trying to
keep their eyes open at 3 am, or all those poor bastards around the world who
live in the suburbs and commute to work everyday on crowded highways. Be glad
you’re running and not driving, I chant.
When
I’ve run ten miles and know I still have an hour left on my long run, I look
out to the sea and think, well, an hour, that’s less than it takes to get from
DC in Baltimore
in heavy traffic and a whole lot more fun.
