The internet suggests that some people enjoy running. In real life, I’ve only ever met two or three people who seem to take any pleasure in it, and they might be lying/psychopathic.
Although I can’t claim to like the act itself (it’s bloody awful), I think I like talking about running… I must do, because I do it all the time. I don’t think it’s possible to have a conversation with me where I don’t manage to squeeze a little mention in there somewhere. Even though I’m fully aware that that makes me incredibly dull.
HELLO EVERYONE DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT RUNNING? THAT IS TOO BAD BECAUSE I AM OBSESSED WITH TALKING ABOUT RUNNING SO WE ARE GOING TO DO THAT NOW AND IF YOU TRY TO RUN AWAY I WILL RUN AFTER YOU BECAUSE I DO RUNNING NOW BY THE WAY SO YOU ARE SORT OF TRAPPED HERE WITH ME AND I’M AWFUL.
Aside from the mental breakdown I’m teetering on the edge of, I’m also dangerously close to becoming 30 years-old (these things may be related). This is something else I’m willing to talk about ad nauseum. I caught up with my oldest friend (as in, we’ve been friends since primary school rather than old old… she’s younger than me… Obviously… Because I’m really old now… Ugh) and she was treated to a few hours of these subjects exclusively. The only time I remember discussing anything else was when I struck up a conversation about an ice cream parlour while we were standing in the carpark. Great chat.
So I just have to accept that I’m now very old and very boring. And my knee hurts. And one of my toenails has gone black.