Running uphill sucks. I hate every second of it. Hate it. If you ever thought you hated someone, try running uphill. You’ll realize that you hate them a lot less than you hate running uphill. They become a lot more tolerable the next time you see them. Because you know that there’s something you hate more. And yet I do it. Three times a week. Two and a half kilometers. Seven and a half in total each week, five of which are spent running uphill. Why do I do it? I have a belief that most people who work out regularly, and do so outside of social media, do it because it represents something to them. Something that is not tied to the workout itself. When they do it, they are tapping into something internal. Something that only makes sense to them. That’s what makes them consistent. Its not the gains. The gains inevitably slow down after some time. The body is an adaptive machine. To continue past that point, it has to be something else.
Sometimes, when I’m running, I meet another runner. She hates running just as much as I do. I can see it in her face. And yet she does it. I have my reason for doing it. I wonder what her reason is. Running sucks. And yet I do it anyway.
Praying
I’m not religious, or spiritual. Whatever you want to call it. There’s a big reason for that. I might put it here someday. But the gist of it is that I was going through something when I was younger. Something that only God could explain. That only he could answer. And so I asked. And asked. And asked. All I ever got was silence. So at some point I said ‘well, fuck you too.’ And that was that. My stance has changed a lot since then. But Christianity and religion as a whole just doesn’t work for me. Its like getting back with that ex. Its never really the same. Saying this, some people lose their shit. Its inconceivable to them that someone has a differing view to the thing they hold precious. And I don’t blame them. Challenge something I fundamentally believe and I’ll react the same way. But they also people assume a lot. They assume that I don’t have faith. They assume faith is exclusive to the pious. That faith is exclusive to Christianity.
I seen enough to know that there is no assurance in life. This world doesn’t owe me shit. My life could get a lot worse. A lot worse. But I continue, hoping that it gets a lot better. Hoping. If I didn’t believe in that slim chance, why would I go on? And isn’t that what faith is? Knowing the endless possibilities, most of which are bad, but hoping for the best? And truth is, I pray. I pray a lot. Its not the traditional prayer that we are taught since we were children. Its a little different. But I do pray. I know all I’ll hear back is silence. And yet I do it anyways.
Loving
Love can be a lot of pain. A lot. Especially when you’re in your twenties, when the pressure to settle down hasn’t hit full gear, and there is no urgency to do so. Love involves giving someone your time, your energy, sometimes for nothing in return. No reciprocation. No appreciation. This especially in a world where gender roles are shifting, and no one knows exactly who or what they are supposed to be in a relationship. It involves a lot of relationships that end abruptly, with little to no explanation. This can be that boyfriend. That girlfriend. It can also be that friend you’ve had for ages - love isn’t exclusive to lovers. It involves people being complete assholes with the people who love and care for them. It involves battling loneliness when the world around us seems to be doing great. Awesome even. Its wanting to be loved, even if it means sacrificing who you are, for that fleeting moment. That fleeting feeling. That someone cares for you. Its giving yourself to someone, hoping that it lasts. But most of us have had four five relationships with a person who was supposed to be ‘the one.’ And every time it ends, it hurts. It fucking hurts. And it does for a long time. And yet, we do it. We let ourselves be vulnerable. We let ourselves be seen. "Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves. Be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves.” The world is full of snakes. I know it. Probably better than you do. But you know what? I’ll play anyways.
Fighting
A lot of us got emotional (read ‘cried’) when Hodor (Game of Thrones) died. I loved that they never bothered to explain why he was who he was until it mattered. Those last moments served to give context as to who he was. But he knew who he was. He knew for a long time. Since he saw Bran in his teenage years. He knew. It didn’t have to make sense to anyone else. It just had to make sense to him. ‘Hodor.’ That’s all he said. He knew the people around him wouldn’t understand what he was saying, or why he was saying it. He said it anyways.
Few people have watched the rocky movies here. And while I watched it when I was younger, I didn’t really start resonating with it until I was an adult. It never made sense to me before. The guy gets hit pretty bad. And every time he hits the ground, he gets back up to get hit again. And again. And again. And the guy loses in the end. What the fuck is that. And he seems to be celebrating. He seems hyped. He seems to think he’s capable of anything now. And as I grow older, I understand. In his world, he is capable of anything now. Apollo, his opponent in the fight, puts it best. “Man, I won, but I didn’t beat him!” He knew he was going to lose. The movie makes it clear from the beginning. He fought anyways.
There’s a picture of a guy at the end of an MMA fight. The look on this guy’s face says it all. He looks tired, but relieved. It was over. He was out of hell. And that seemed to be everything to him. Sixty six headshots in the second round. That's how much this guy got hit. A headshot every five seconds. This was not going well for him. Going into the third round, his coach dropped all decorum. "YOU GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES OF HELL! YOU UNDERSTAND ME SON! FIVE MINUTES OF HELL!," the coach shouted at him. And the guy went out, got hit thirty five more times. A hundred and one headshots, in a span of ten minutes. And he lost the fight. For the rest of your life, go out, touch gloves, and fight.