Tuesday, March 29, 2011


I hate running.  And I love it.

The hardest part of running is that moment when I'm standing in my kitchen after a long day of work, staring at my running shoes and thinking that I deserve a day off and a nice cookie.

Then I put on my sneakers and go.  The first mile is easy.  With my music in my ears, I settle into a nice rhythm.  Around 2 miles, my knees feel a little sore and I start wondering what the hell I'm doing.  Why did I decide to run again?  It's too hot, I'm too thirsty, I could be watching Modern Family and eating Chinese food.  I'd do anything to be able to stop running.  It's stupid and I'm stupid and I hate it.

Then I hit mile 3 and that sense of accomplishment sweeps over me.  I'm almost home.  I can do it. Maybe I've tripped and skinned my knee, maybe I took a wrong turn and had to backtrack a little, maybe chest hurts and my shins are throbbing.  It doesn't matter because I know I can do it.

When I finally get home, sometimes after 3.5 miles, sometimes after 5, and I'm stretching my sore, tired muscles, I realize how glad I am that I finished. At that moment, running and I are in love.  I forget how much I hated it only a couple of miles ago.

Until the next day.

Writing is a lot like running.  Only hard work and perseverance will get you home.


  1. Shaun you are a wonderful person. Inspiring beyond belief!

    I fight this same battle every single day, first with the eliptical, and then with the blank page.

    The funny thing is I've noticed when the run doesn't happen, the words don't flow either. I love one too much to give the other up.

  2. Great analogy, Shaun. And very true!

  3. Great post...That's how I feel every time I run!

  4. I despise running, or planned exercise of any kind, but I appreciate the analogy. Kind of how I feel about cleaning. I really don't want to do it. "That room is just SO messy." But then once I can look to the other side of the room and go, "Damn that looks good!" so I finish the second half and sit back to admire my work.

    Then I let my family back into that room and cry a little when they rip it apart, just like critique time.

    Hehe, this metaphor stuff is fun!



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