I hate running. I don’t understand people who look forward to it. There’s an energy to a race, definitely, but I’m not sure it isn’t just that final hell to push you through. You go through this corral system, you share meaningful looks about private bodily waste disposal events with strangers, you find out your Bluetooth headphones doesn’t keep a charge, you can never find water and do you want water anyway, do you really want to pee the whole race? These observations aren’t new. Why isn’t it called jogging, anyway? Why does it have to be called running, to differentiate modern joggers from Donald Sutherland in Ordinary People? We wish we could be Donald Sutherland in Ordinary People. That guy was living in the Matrix. Maybe running does feel good in the Matrix. I wish the second two hadn’t been so awful. The first one is legitimately cool and Bound is exceptional. Anyway, running. Running allows one to exercise mental control over the physical through acts of stubbornness. People like being obstinate. I like being obstinate. I hate running. Yet I run. I did have this observation about how a long run is these little moments in time but I’ve forgotten most of them and they’re mine anyway, not good subjects for writing.