good pain, bad pain (Part 1)

I don’t run because I like running. I run to resist decay, to keep pace with the life that keeps calling me forward to where I think I belong. It’s not merely about resisting physical decay, but about resisting the more subtle, more dangerous decay of the spirit, the quiet collapse into apathy.

Into a comfortable suspension.

The assumption of arrival.

To assume this is as good as it gets, whatever this is, is to rationalize away dissonance. I tell myself my cup doesn’t overflow because spills make a mess. Better to leave room for cream, even though I like my coffee black.

Reduce risk.

Predictability is wise.

Return to my fetal state; let my boundaries spoon me from behind.

Nothing to transcend.

Striving becomes sin.

And beauty becomes a myth.