Guy Unsure When, Why, or How He Became a Runner

Experiencing a mid-run epiphany that he’s figuratively on a path to nowhere while literally—and simultaneously—running away from and toward nothing, Albert Lee has absolutely no idea why he’s currently running.

Albert is already very active outside of running: pumping iron damn near daily, long strolls with his corgi Elizabeth, and stimulating rounds of golf with his wife Luna. He’s not even training for anything; Al hasn’t donned a bib in years. It’s clear what is overwhelming Albert even more than the cloud of cheap cologne he bathes in each morning: he has far more regrets than reasons to run (zero).

Halfway through a run he doesn’t remember starting, Albert is retracing his entire life choices and wondering when it all went completely off the rails.

“I decide to go for a run one day, I wake up twenty years later, and here I am—robotically putting one foot in front of the other and desperately swinging my arms like a moron every weekday for no apparent reason. I’m nothing but a sell-out. I’m a hamster running on a wheel. A rat in a maze.”

Wasted potential?

Expectations were sky high when Albert graduated in the illustrious top three-fourths of his high school class. And at Shippensburg University, he almost—almost—made the Dean’s List one time. Once fueled by such lofty aspirations, Albert’s now just a lowly runner, counting the miles until he can go home.

He contemplates the merits of the sport activity of running:

“It’s a really silly sport, if you think about it. It’s not even really a sport, if we’re being honest. Why couldn’t I have done something exciting with my life? I could’ve been a Nascar driver. Or surfer. Or skier. Or done literally anything that involves skill. Or a shred of strategy.”

Running’s flaws

Albert’s frustration is understandable: running can be an extremely limiting way to spend your days. 9.5 times out of 10, it feels like you’re just going through the motions—the very basic, repetitive, and quite monotonous motions. Each footstep feels like a tick of the clock—a death march toward Father Time—reminding us life is short, and far better spent elsewhere. Worse yet, a run always ends precisely where it started. You’d have to be a moron not to understand how running can feel like a deadbeat, dead-end activity, with no opportunity for growth.

Who knows how Albert’s life may have turned out differently if he’d never became a runner? Actually, Albert seems to know exactly:

“I always live without regrets—sometimes. But honestly, I’d be much happier if I hadn’t spent any time pounding the pavement over the years. I could have done something productive with my life. Hell, I probably could’ve cured cancer.

After all those 40-mile weeks, I still live in the same house, and we barely vacation anywhere. And isn’t running bad for the knees, anyway?”

Albert can’t name a single running accomplishment; poor tool hasn’t even run a marathon. As a solo runner, he has no network to ask for advice and no one handing out opportunities either. Albert’s sacrificed many years to running, and all he got in return were a few cheap plastic medals and even uglier shin splints.

“They say when your exercise is your passion, it doesn’t feel like exercise. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be more apathetic about running. Every day I hit the road is a hellish slog toward nothing. The irony is, I can actually see the light at the end of the tunnel, yet I can’t help but clumsily trudge along in the opposite direction, deeper into the depths of darkness and despair.”

Albert briefly wonders if running holds any life lessons, before quickly denouncing it as a monumental waste of time, energy, and resources. The truth? He’d quit running in an instant if he didn’t have a family.

Recognizing it’s never too late to switch paths in life, Albert will likely just continue running for the rest of his miserable life.

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