(Source: , via everythingyoulovetohate)
You will learn to stash a water bottle in the freezer to roll out knotted muscles. You will learn how to tape up your feet so that healing blisters won’t stand in your way. You will learn which gels taste best, how to chew and keep moving, how to gulp down water without getting a stitch in your side. You will learn how to run to a place, how to time an out and back, how to know when to loop around, how to take a train only to get off and then run all the way home. You will learn which shorts don’t chafe your thighs and which shoes will steal your heart and which sunglasses stay on your face. You will learn which music cheers you on. You will never learn to say “fartlek” without giggling. You will learn a certain disdain for the word “jogging.” You will learn how to wave a thank you to drivers who let you pass, how to stand your ground against bikes, how to veer out of the way of dogs and toddlers who find your legs fascinating. You will learn the difference between tired legs and a tired mind. You will learn which battles to fight and which to take in stride, when to push and when to coast, how to attack a hill. You will already know to relish the downhill. You will learn how to get faster, how to train, how to tackle goals and miles and distances and races. You will learn how to conquer.
But to learn how to be a runner, to learn how to start, go back. Even further. Go back to the days when you first pulled yourself up, when you first learned how to use your legs, when you realized you could put one in front of the other, and then put the other one in front faster, and faster, and faster. Because you were always a runner. You were always made to be a runner. Just because you stopped doesn’t mean you can’t start again. All you have to do is run.