Consistency

 The reason I continue to run is essentially the same as Forrest Gump. Nobody told me to stop. It is, as so many have pointed out, a "healthy addiction." It gives my compulsive predilections something to which they can attend. I tend to wake each morning with the same thought: "When will I get my run in today?" And though sometimes I flinch in anticipation of yet another opportunity to physically push my endurance, I am always happy when it's done. Like the joke: "Why do you keep doing that to yourself?" Because it feels so good when I stop.

Some of you out there may have already beat me to the conclusion that if I just stopped completely, then I would be free of that middle part: the actual exertion. In response to that I say that what you are currently reading is another example of that same strain of compulsion. As a matter of fact, my feelings about both writing this blog and running are regularly reinforced by those around me. They are all impressed by my frequency, even if the quality of effort is sometimes a question. But I take solace in the time I spend behind the keyboard much in the same way I feel when I lace up my running shoes. 

Another element they share is the solitary nature of the activity. Just me in my shorts. Just me and my keyboard. The two are inexorably linked in discussions I have with my wife on a regular basis. When inquires about my business on any given weekend or day off, the reply is pretty standard: "Gotta go for a run, write a blog." And then the rest of whatever might be on a list or calendar somewhere. I call those "must do's," but my reality suggests that running and blogging have a higher place in my marching orders. 

All of which brings me to the point I was going to make way back up there at the beginning. I am glad that my regimen requires very little in the way of equipment and support beyond a sidewalk and a pair of shoes. I was reading this morning about armed thieves accosting mountain bikers in the hills just north of my house and stealing their bicycles. Very expensive bicycles, we assume. Hard for me to imagine that these bandits would be interested in my sweaty Asics, but that's probably what keeps me running. Which in turn takes me back to those years when I lived a little closer to downtown, and one afternoon I was passing by one of the sketchier motels on my route. A young lady stepped out in front of me, hand on her hip and said something to me. Always the helpful sort, I stopped and pulled out my earbuds. "Excuse me?" 

"You wanna date?" she asked. 

I politely demurred for all the common sense reasons and also because I didn't want to break my stride. Or break my streak.