"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.