Written March 5, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Today, disappointment takes center stage. Nothing earth-shattering—no grand betrayals, no existential crises—just a simple, frustrating reality: I have a doctor’s appointment, and it’s trampling all over my running plans. Normally, I outmaneuver these scheduling dilemmas by booking appointments on non-running days, but this time, fate (or, more accurately, my doctor’s availability) had other plans. And so, my run is officially benched.
At first, I entertained the idea of running after the appointment, a valiant attempt at compromise. But then, I checked the weather: gray skies, a steady drizzle, the kind of rain that makes the world look like it’s mourning some cosmic injustice. It’s not a storm—there are no dramatic lightning bolts to justify staying indoors—but it’s just annoying enough to sap the joy out of a run. I could still go, but do I want to? Not really.
The irony of all this is that I never used to care about running. Actually, I despised it. My wife, on the other hand, has always been an outdoors enthusiast, the type who sees a forest trail and thinks, adventure! while I see it and think, mosquitoes. Left to my own devices, I would have happily remained a devoted indoor creature, perfectly content within four walls. But the more time I spent with her, the more I found myself dragged—reluctantly, at first—into nature. Running, however, was an entirely different beast.
I started running for her. After my stroke, she worried about my mobility, my brain function, and my ability to move with ease. She saw running as a way to keep me sharp and strong. And because I saw her as someone worth listening to, I ran. Not because I wanted to, not because I had any burning passion for the sport, but because making her happy was reason enough.
Of course, she saw through that instantly. “What happens if I’m not here?” she once asked, with a look that could cut through steel. “Would you just stop?” She argued that motivation needs to be internal and that relying on external forces makes for a fragile commitment. I nodded along, pretending to agree, but deep down, I wasn’t sure she was wrong.
Then, somewhere along the way, something shifted. It crept up on me, subtle and unexpected. Running became less about obligation and more about, well… me. I started to enjoy it—maybe even need it. And now, here I am, feeling genuinely frustrated about missing a run—not for my wife’s sake, but for my own. Somehow, that motivation she kept talking about had rooted itself deeper than I realized.
Now, I sit here, staring at the window, checking my weather app like it might miraculously change in my favor. It doesn’t. The sky remains gray, the drizzle continues, and my disappointment lingers. But really, what’s the point in sulking? I could try to make up the run tomorrow—though that might throw off my Friday schedule. I’ll decide when the time comes. One thing’s for sure: next time, I’ll fight harder for a non-running day appointment. But if I have to choose between my health and my run, the run will lose. Reluctantly.