Gah. I’ve started this post a million times, and keep deleting the nonsense that I type. So. How do I say this? Yesterday’s race was one of my favourite races I’ve ever run, and not because I PR’d (far from it, actually), and not because of the gorgeous views (they were simply an added bonus), but because I simply had fun and was reminded why I run, when, well, I hate running. 

It should also be noted that in the last year I’ve fully made the mental switch that running long distances won’t make you lose weight; I believe it’s not possible to consume the required number of calories required to get the energy needed to run a 32k+ (20 miler+) run, and still lose weight. 

So this, of course, begs the question, why run do I run when I a) hate it, and b) know it won’t make me skinny?

But the answer is simple, and as those of you who already run will know, there is nothing quite like crossing the finish line of a race. Absolutely nothing. The anticipation. The planning. The moments of doubt being outweighed by the, ‘no, I can do this’ moments. The crowds. The cheers. The claps. The announcer. Seeing the joy when people see their loved ones. The sudden energy you get going down the chute. The moment you stop after you hear your timer beep. The stranger giving you your medal. The calorie free post run meal. The feeling of wanting to drop, ‘i ran a ___ yesterday’ in every conversation you have the next day. Nope, nothing like it at all.

I inspired myself yesterday. Which trust me, I know, sooooooo lame, but really, I did. I reminded myself what I’m capable of, how fun races are, how far I’ve come, and how important never ever giving up is. Because I’ve sure as hell had some binge-eating-staying-in-bed-till-2-not-caring-days, but despite all the crappy days I messed up on (and oh there were many) I kept trying and trying and trying, and what do you know? Yesterday I ran a 23k race just for fun.