Whenever my curious non-running fat ass, good-for-nothing, gonna die of a heart attack at age 30... friends inquire about my love of running, the WHY, I always delve into this philosophical diatribe describing how the grind of running is applicable to all aspects of life. I must admit that when I was first asked this question, I carefully crafted an answer not out of the goodness of my heart but because of the insecurity that I wouldn't appear to be woke or intellectual. The longer I habitate (Autocorrect is telling me this is not a word, but I am woke and intellectual, so this is now a word) this boi (or chica, him/her/it, again I am WOKE) we call earth (I just thought I'd add another clarification to make this difficult to read because I am WOKE) (I cried myself to sleep last night to the tunes of my own voice because I hate myself so much) (Target is having a really good sale on AirPods right now which I highly recommend taking advantage of if you can financially justify suc...