The Running Paradox
Running is a never ending paradox. The first 1-2 miles are pure hell. This entire stage of your run you are seriously contemplating turning around, quitting, going back to your house to binge watch House of Cards on Netflix and eat ice-cream. And then BOOM! The endorphins kick in. Nothing can stop you and you don't want to stop. At this point that guilty pleasure playlist on Spotify sounds awesome, you don't care cuz haters gonna hate and you are a beast. You temporarily forget that you are drenched in sweat, that your ponytail is falling apart and that you are breathing like you are drowning. You are freaking awesome! You reach the halfway point and want to keep going and the realization strikes you that you will have to run home. Half of you is all like YOLO IDGAF, and the other half is all like WHAT THE F*** DID I GET MYSELF INTO. Past the halfway point it gets easier, but your legs are getting fatigued, and you have a love/hate relationship with this thing called running. You can get up this last hill. You either sprint the last quarter mile, or stumble it like a lost drunk, about to fall over and pass out. You feel like you want to die either way. About five minutes later, after chugging about a gallon of water from the sink because you absolutely CANNOT be bothered to use a glass like a normal person (but tbh what kind of person who goes running willingly is normal?) you forget the blood, sweat, tears, and pain. "I feel really good" you think to yourself and the running paradox continues and you go again tomorrow like the fool you are.