My training has been sporadic at best. Some things have been great–running in the morning has really helped me get in workouts that I had otherwise been missing, and I get to do it with a friend too. Others, like this lingering cough that wakes me up some nights, have been less than great.

That and the aches and pains of age and exertion.

Running isn’t just an exercise for me; it’s a metaphor. I always feel like I’m trying to run from something. My weight. My job. My family. The stress in my life. My responsibilities. It’s just temporary. I can’t run away–I’ve never been fast–and I can’t run forever. But in the end, the thing I seem to be running from the most is me.

And it’s the one thing I really can’t run from.

Maybe that’s why I really never have liked running.

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