run like hell

i started running again last week. i haven't really done it on a regular basis since the summer of '09 when i was running about 20 miles a week. my entire life, i have *abhorred* running. it's not that i'm not active, it's just that i would rather have my legs shaved by a blind man with 4 fingers than to sprint more than 20 feet.

ah, shaving. my least favorite thing in the world to do. if i won the lottery, first thing i'd do (no vacation, no paying off bills): laser hair removal from top to bottom (no pun intended there).

i never understood what people got out of this seemingly masochistic activity, then i hit the two mile mark, and it all fell into place...the legendary runner's high. i started this mostly painful activity because after 3 semesters of working on my phd, it was either run, become an alcoholic, become an addict, or kill someone. those were the only plausible choices, and i didn't relish the idea of rehab, jail, or becoming a murderer.

i got my master's degree pretty much with my eyes closed. i showed up to class, i figured out from the discussion what was going on, i contributed, i went home and dealt with my psychotic boyfriend. at the end of each semester, i'd crank out three 20 page papers in a week, and ta da, here's your A.

i didn't read hardly *anything* except my holocaust books (because they were interesting), and i managed to get all As, and one B (in the freaking holocaust class, of all things!). during most of this i was dealing with said psycho boyfriend, flying to colorado once a month to see him, doing an internship/TA position 50 miles from my house (one way), taking 12 hours of school, and working two jobs.

but getting your phd, at least for me, is a whole other ballgame. although i had one shitty professor tell me that it's impossible to read all that you're assigned, i did it, so take *that*, jackass. every week for four semesters, i read, studied, worked, had no life, and wrote papers.

then i had a semi-serious meltdown and reading kind of fell through the cracks for a while. but running does help me...i need the stress relief, and it really works, despite my initial misgivings. bonus, it isnt' dangerous to myself or others...well mildly dangerous to me because i have to contend with the treadmill and manage to not fall down.

but i've been running outside lately, and i like that much better than the treadmill; fresh air, nature, not feeling like a gerbil is always nice. however, there's always the possibility of the rolled ankle, getting hit by a car, frostbitten fingers. whatever.

i've also found that my state of mind and music play a big part, so i have to psyche myself up sometimes, think about how good i'll feel after i'm not sore anymore, and pick great music.

and yes, taylor swift has been motivating me for the past week. what of it? i listened to pearl jam yesterday and this morning...needed a little mutual pain, anger, and frustration to drive me, not sweet, little, naive taylor.

real music, real passion, real energy. that's my boys.