I Hate Running.

I hate running. I hate almost everything about it. I hate the pounding of the ground against my feet and the pounding of my heart against my chest. I hate the taste of blood and metal which seems to fill my mouth when I run too fast or too long. I hate that my runs seem to go on forever with no end result and no winner. The only thing I actually enjoy about running is that I am outside moving against a beautiful Colorado backdrop. Which highlights my next issue with running - even more so than running outside, I despise the monotony of a treadmill. I truly hate that I really am going nowhere. I hate the stale air the treadmill fan blows on my face. And I hate the digital countdown which blares against my pupils almost taunting me as it slowly counts down the time I have spent being stationary, yet moving. I hate running.

So why on earth did I sign up to run a half marathon in 2 months? There is one simple answer – it was all because of a damn margarita.