Last week, I felt compelled to run five miles. I run on a (mostly) daily basis. However, I usually log a consistent three miles per workout. On that particular Tuesday, I felt it necessary to increase my mileage; I needed to escape.
Yes, running is my escape. I have not done, nor do I ever plan on doing, hard drugs. But I like getting high — from running. To me, running is a drug, and I am totally addicted. Running certainly involves a level of physicality. However, running is also very much a mental thing. When I run my legs follow a monotonous pattern, yet my mind swirls across unknown depths; my feet go straight, yet my thoughts follow no semblance of a linear path.
As I run, I think myself through a million different scenarios and become inspired by countless observations and ideas. My brain wanders and wonders until I am in a completely different place, a euphoric land of bliss. Running gives me new perspective on my problems and worries. Running enlightens me to the possibilities of life; nothing can hold me down.
I think drugs do this too.
Sometimes, I run with a friend. I do this when I want to indulge in a shared experience of elation. Sometimes, I run alone. I do this when I need to break free from real world struggles.
This, again, seems drug-like.
I love running. I use it, abuse it, and rely on it to boost my mood.
Running is a drug.