I hate running.
I’m pretty sure that this “runner’s high” that people talk about is a myth. I’ve run a few races, ran a 7-minute mile once in high school to impress a guy I liked and ran like a guinea pig on the treadmill at the gym while bitterly watching the food network and NOT ONE TIME have I experienced this “runner’s high.” My experience was more of the “runner’s death with a touch of asthma thrown in for good measure.”
So why do I run? I run because I need something to motivate me and work toward at the gym. Otherwise I just half ass my workouts and cheat through all the squats and lunges. When I know that I have to run a 5k away from zombies, I am motivated to go the extra mile, pun intended.
In my dating life, I’ve noticed, I have a tendency to run away from any relationship that looks like it has a possibility of becoming serious and running toward anything that for me is temporal or “safe.”
Looking back at the last 15 months of singleness, a pattern emerges. I run after the ones that see me as an option, and/or the ones that I know have no future with – usually douchey, afraid of commitment and/or live in another state/country/universe. These guys are safe to me. I can date them, knowing that there’s probably no future – and no future means that my heart is not endangered. The ones that I feel are a threat to me are the “nice guys” who are serious, want more than just a fling and are looking toward the future. The ones that bring me flowers, open doors and don’t expect me to put out. So, it seems, that I’ve unwittingly bought into the whole “Nice guys finish last” cliché without actually meaning to.
I recently went on a few dates with an amazing man (to be blogged about soon), and I got scared and started talking myself out of liking him. As soon as I realized that he basically matched my list (I actually even thought about re-writing my list because of it), and he seemed to be totally interested in staying around a while, I put on my running shoes and started stretching. And I told him I needed space and off I ran.
And nope, still no runner’s high.