Running's not for squares. I don't wear a spandex body suit. I spit. I stare down cars. I swear at builders. I master the technique of blowing air down one nostril. And, in the fray, I get to think things through.
I've just run. After a tough start, I arrived at the following conclusion: New Year's resolutions don't break.
The classes I teach, which always swell straight after Christmas, have stayed swollen for the third year running. There are even men in them now, right at the back, twice a week and proud. They're not leaving. My mum still gets remedial massage, my aunt refuses to take her mis-prescribed statins. Clients curb their workaholism. Some cycle to work, play sport, drink too much, but feel better. New Year's resolutions don't get broken. It's just a comforting myth. When we feel crap, we change our habits. When we change our habits, we keep them changed.
This is why I run.
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