I used to hate running hills. I mean, really hate running hills. Like the way some people hate brussel sprouts. But then I found hills made of dirt and rock. With spectacular views and windy paths. Sometimes these dirt hills would be mountains, but other times they were just big humps. For some reason, when the hills were made of dirt, they didn’t seem as hard as those made of road. When I did them, my back didn’t scream at me.
I started seeking out these hills of dirt. I wore my iPod and ran up and down. And when I finished, I wanted to go back up because coming down made me feel like Wonder Woman. I was flying. And jumping. And every now and then, I caught myself laughing. While I was running. Weird.
And now, I can’t get enough. I’m addicted to these dirt hills. I run them every day, even though people much smarter than I tell me that it’s not good for me, that I will hurt something. I tell them, everything already hurts, and it hurts a lot less on the dirt hills.
So back up I go. And back down I careen, every single day. If you see a crazy woman in a Wonder Woman cape, laughing, come say hello. We can run up and down together.