This is the last one. I promise.

There is a certain amount of will power that must be exerted to avoid the loathing of something you enjoy when before trying it you had initially discredited anyone who had promoted its participation as a kook or crackhead wacko. A defeated man, I am hesitant to say that I enjoy running. This is mostly because of the long list of people who had suggested I try it. Describing it as a "healthy" or "calming" activity put their names in a book that I burned long ago. Some said that they found that they had more energy after they ran. Ridiculous. Usually I kicked those people in the groin immediately after the words left their mouths. What lies. What deceit! I knew the end times were nigh when one of my close friends began training for the city's marathon. Marathon! People run for miles only to return to where they came! Miles! Miles are super-kilometres! Eye-contact and phone calls were avoided for months. I later forgave him for his error and we returned to good terms.

Little did I know the sublime enjoyment one can receive from burning his or her body with repetitive kinetic motion. There seems to be a point where you just tell your legs, "No, you cannot stop. You must go. Further." And at that point your mind detaches from your body and floats above it like a hovering spaceship. I like to run in the evening, and since I sweat so much I normally take off my glasses before I leave the apartment. Without my glasses, I see "star bursts" from street lamps and they tend to bounce and dance with every step. In that "detached" state, the star bursts are beautiful and hypnotic.

I run my part of the relay in tomorrow's marathon. It's a small part. In fact, it's barely above the "SuperWalk" in difficulty. But I'm still proud to participate in it. I got off of my tiny tiny butt and found that running is not so bad. I will even go out on a limb and suggest that people try it out, twice. Experience the endorphins. For they are delicious.