The cult of running
I am the member of a cult. Oh, it out started innocently enough, as these things often do. Walking just wasn’t enough for me. It just didn’t give me the buzz I needed. I wanted more. I needed more. I had to run. At first it was a few metres here, a few metres there.
Before I knew it, I was running a kilometre, then three, then five, now 10. I didn’t know it would become such an obsession. I didn’t know that I would find it so satisfying. I didn’t know that it would get me out of bed in the dark, in freezing conditions in the middle of winter. I didn’t know that I could push my body to its limit and love it. I didn’t know.
But knowing what I know, I wouldn’t change a thing. Running is part of who I am now. It is my identity: I run, therefore I am.
My name is Diane. I am a runner.