Running is therapy. At least that’s what I tell myself. Over and over and over again. This is good for you. Don’t quit. Keep going. This is hell. I’m literally going to die. Why am I doing this to myself? Can I stop now? I’m going to stop. And I often do stop and try and catch my breath until some other jogger blasts past me and then my ultra-competitiveness kicks in and I end up running after them. Sometimes I can’t catch up but at least it gets my legs moving again. Other times I run past them with a nonchalant look on my face, ponytail swinging behind me like running is super fun, super
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same girl
