I'm a runner, not a keen runner, but a runner all the same. I pull myself out of bed at six in the morning when I'd much rather stay between those warm sheets and sleep for another hour. I don't though. Instead, I manfully strap on my iPod and pull on my running shoes with my dog beside me (aching for me to hurry up) and begin.
I run because of how it makes me feel. My mind clears of all its clutter and my body tingles with energy. I run because it makes me feel alive when I've finished.
After four or five miles of hard slog my day becomes calmer, my ideas are sharper and running up all of those lung-bursting hills suddenly seems worthwhile.
