I love running. 

I also hate running. 

There are times when I run regularly. There are times when I miss weeks after weeks. Then I’m back to the start, a beginner again. Or so it feels. It’s hard. 

This summer I’ve had a bit of a break from it, again. The weeks slip by and then before you know it, it’s easier not to try. To make excuses to myself about it not mattering or that I’m too busy or that I need to prioritise other things, work/family/house, that it’s ok to let myself off. 

However I feel about running, about going for a run, there’s never a time when I return from a run – ever – wishing I hadn’t bothered. 

There are runs that are ok and runs that I quit. There are run-walk-runs. There are runs that I just can’t be bothered with. Then there are the very few that are amazing, when there’s some celestial alignment and I find that almost elusive flow. 

I don’t run far or fast. A few miles at a time. I’m not looking to shave seconds off my PB. I don’t even know what my PB is. I’m not harbouring a desire to run ultra-marathons or even marathons, but maybe I could. 

Running is maintenance. Physical and mental maintenance. It makes me feel good, keeping any niggles in check. 

Why oh why is it easier not to do it, then? Why don’t I make it as regular an activity as eating breakfast? 

“I only have a few reasons to keep on running, and a truckload of them to quit. All I can do is keep those few reasons nicely polished.” Murakami 

So, this is me trying to keep my reasons nicely polished as I try again to get back on track.