Running, or, like fucking whatever!

I would like to write about running. But I haven’t run since mid-January, and have no expectation to run until August. So I have nothing to say to Running except for:

Running, I miss you! I miss you so much. I miss the way, when we’d spend time together. I’d feel so talented, smart, funny and beautiful.I miss the way you used to make me laugh, and how we’d get all sweaty together. I miss how, after a good workout, I’d feel all sassy and omnipotent, hopped up just by being around you. I loved spending time with you–you are so interesting, and you totally “got” me. But mostly, I miss the way you’d make me feel special, and like you loved me more than anyone else.

Wait.

I think I got my love letters confused.

Actually, no.

Fuck you, Running! You fickle bastard.

Here’s another thing. Turns out, love is infinite. So even though I might be ignoring Running now (well, it’s more like this: I’m not returning Running’s calls or texts because it’s just.too.painful to go there), but I can nevertheless feel Running’s love for me. I know Running loves me, the way Running loves her, and him, and you, and you and yes even you, you lazy slob. Running loves us ALL because love is infinite! Love just creates more love.

Running has room for everyone. Even the runners who are so injured and depressed that then can’t run at all. Even when all we can do is tweet stupid shit and drink lots of wine and work 12-hour days and make ice cream, Running still loves us. Because Running knows that as long as it keeps the love there, we will turn back towards it, one day.

I prefer to turn towards love. Even when injured! Even when blogging under the influence of 750 mililiters of prosecco. Even when shopping for size 8 clothes when I’m usually a 4. (That’s when I really need love.)

Being injured sucks, but it doesn’t mean we are abandoned. Running’s love still stands, waiting and ready.

Also: did I mention I’m going to be living in a castle in Italy in a week’s time?