Essays →


June 28, 2023

I’m not a good runner.

Thanks to the efforts, advice and patience of many good friends and coaches I’m no longer a frankly bad runner. But my running form is still terrible, my nutrition plagued by bad habits, and my training discipline a mess that jumps all over the place.

It’s quite a miracle that, in spite of myself, I’ve somehow managed to become a fairly proficient runner who’s tackled distances, beat challenges and achieved times once I only dreamed of, and even managed to come out of it in pretty decent physical and emotional shape.

Perhaps this is why there are people who, to my surprise, have actually told me they consider me a good runner.

The truth is my only real quality –or curse– as a runner is that I’m not only very tough, but also incredibly fucking stubborn.

Once I’ve committed myself to reaching a goal I have to keep running, walking, limping, crawling… no matter what it takes, I have to reach that goal.

I just don’t know when to quit.

When I’m running, I don’t even know HOW to quit.

It may sound harrowing at first glance, almost like a refined form of masochistic self-torture. And perhaps it might be, if it wasn’t for the fact that running is itself my saving grace.

Running makes me feel alive.

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