Running is one of those activities in life that, quite frankly, feels pointless. Research shows that eating celery actually takes more energy than it gives you. Therefore, it's basically pointless. That's honestly what running feels like sometimes. It also feels horrible while you're running, because your lungs have, like, zero oxygen, not to mention the fact that your legs are practically turning into Jello that's mushier than your average Chinese buffet. And people choose to do it. For fun.

Honestly, sometimes I don't know why I run.

I actually started running in my junior year of high school. I joined the track team mostly because I had a couple friends that were on the team (which was a terrible reason but it actually worked out for the better). I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I walked onto the track shaking and immediately regretting ever showing up. I remember the coach asking me what I thought I would be running, and I said something to the extent of, "oh, uh... the shortest distance you have." Unamused, he scribbled my name down next to the 100 meter dash. My first race ever was the open 400. Four times the distance I'd asked for. I was furious. I genuinely thought everyone who ran was a psychotic nut job, and I could not think of a single logical reason as to why I stayed on the team. I hated the 400. I had signed up for the 100, and the fact that I was being forced to run a WHOLE lap was outrageous. I swore on my fried Oreos that I was done with running.

And then I won. I won first in my heat, and third overall in a meet. And then I thought, "maybe this isn't terrible."

So I continued running in my senior year of high school. I'll totally admit: I didn't have the fastest times on the team, and I didn't have the fastest times in the state; but I was reasonably successful in my personal goals. Every meet, I made it a goal to pass over the finish line while running as hard as I could. Ironically, I, the girl who balked at the thought of running in gym class, became a consistent runner in the open 400 meter dash. I found myself running longer distances and enjoying it. Trust me: that's a huge deal for someone who puffed after a 100 meter jog. I began hanging out with the long distance members of the track team. I expected them to be judgmental because I couldn't even run a mile without feeling like someone had taken my lungs out of my chest. To my surprise, they were the most uplifting group of people I'd ever met. In fact, my biggest regret of high school is not joining the cross country team. They told me I'd get used to the longer distances, and I did. They taught me that struggling together creates a kind of bond that can only be correlated to family.

I've graduated and moved on; it is likely I will never see some of those people again. But I still run. People look at me funnily, which is understandable. Who wouldn't? My face often resembles a large tomato that's been freshly washed. Except it's my face, and it's not water; it's sweat. People ask me if I'm running to lose weight, or they ask if I'm trying to look good for my "hot summer bod." As much as I like to be fit, I'm not doing it for others. I'm not doing it to lose weight. I'm running because it is the best gift I can give to myself. Decreased stress, strength, less mood swings, and much more. I also feel energized and I'm more confident in who I am. I run several miles at a time; I'm not fast, but I'm getting better and better each time. Running is more of a mental thing than a physical thing. It isn't one of the things I expected to enjoy. But here I am. I'm looking into 5k races this summer, and I'm beginning to build up my milage for a half marathon. I'm hoping to do a full marathon in the future.

So why do I run? I'd love to say the answer is simple, but there are too many components. Family? Self-improvement? Goals? There's so many reasons that I could give, but none of them would make any sense. All I can say, is try it for yourself. You might find that you're an addict like I am. It's a much better activity than it appears to be, I promise. It looks like eating celery from an outsider's point of view. But in reality, it's way more than that.