I love running. Deal with it

For a while now, I’ve been mulling over writing (an admittedly self-indulgent blog post) about how one’s running affects other people, notably family.

I’m still chewing it over, trying to temper words and feelings.

But the events of the last 3 days have prompted me to share this much at least.

“I run. I love it. Deal with it.”

Yeah, you’re right, just these 3 sentences alone are hardly worthy of a blog post, so I’ll flesh it out later.

But for now, with 2 family funerals in 3 days, I have never felt more need to get out there and run and celebrate the fact that, at 65, I can run.

On Friday we buried a first cousin of my husband’s.

On Saturday, we celebrated the engagement of my husband’s nephew.

On Sunday, we buried the same young man’s grandmother.

Too much emotion for one family in the space of 3 days.

And, as I said, I have never felt more keenly the need to let my heart and my brain and my ageing body know that while I can still run, I shall damn well continue to do so.

Being healthy & staying healthy should be mantras in everyone’s life, but never more so than at this stage of life.

I have NO intention of getting decrepit (touch wood) and I love running, even if I do look ridiculous, as I have cruelly been told.

It gets me out there and into a different head space, one that (for me) prioritises life and people and problems.

Running makes me feel alive.

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