I run a lot. So much so, people worry. They question my sanity, health, and basic cognitive capabilities. Usually people look at me much like a child looks at broccoli when they first hear of my exercise habits. When I meet, shall we say, less enthusiastic runners the conversation generally goes something like this:
Concerned citizen: "How far did you run?"
Me: "Oh, about 10 miles."
Surprised citizen: "Woah. . .uh. . .Why?!"
Me: "That's all I had time for" (I've perfected this response)
Shocked citizen: "How long does it take you?"
Me: "About 1 hour 15 minutes."
Baffled citizen: "Gross, why?!"
etc. etc. etc. It's a vicious cycle.
While the exclamatory is almost certain to change the general reaction is quite the same. Even my family who is accustom to my running still occasionally gives me the child-broccoli stare. So why do I run? It's simple. When I was a young hormonal teenager I learned that exercise was supposed be a great channel for that pubescent frustration. So thats what I did, I ran. As I grew older and teenage angst turned into outright sexual tension I ran further and faster, yet still on my mission I found more events that left me running with my companions following on bike or in the car. And when I returned home my inability to find girls attractive turned me into a running machine. I ran everyday, regardless of the weather or temperature, I was nearly struck by lightning, run over on several occasions, bit by dogs, lost in the mountains, stranded without water, and much more exciting events found their way littered throughout my daily runs. Let's think for a moment, what else would make you barf in the middle of the road, crap your pants, and run till you experience hematuria? The correct answer is, homosexuality. Yes, running was and still is the way I deal with it. So when people ask me why I run I would love to yell, "BECAUSE I'M GAY!" Instead I leave them perplexed with just a shrug and smile.