On the Want of Running

Actually and really, I cannot live in this world without running. To be deprived of it, is to proceed through life with little excitement or fun. It is to live secluded from society, or to be angry if you come into it; it is not to be invited to the hockey game, or asked to prom, or helped with an essay; it is not to have your text replied to or left on delivered, to have your clothes laughed at and ridiculed, your car judged, and finally to lose the mentality and motivation to talk back; it is to be seen as an outsider, and left third-wheeling by friends; it is to be a weirdo in a room full of cool kids, a Hawk in Colt territory; to give up being happy, free, and not stressed, to always need compliments and help, or work a 9-5 job, to be a garbage man; or to go up to the girl you like and ask her out, or fight back against the bully; with all your dreams, frustrations, and hard-work, and a high chance of failing, or, if you do win, after destroying yourself for decades, and putting yourself through multiple mental breakdowns, to be attacked with jealousy, lies, and trash-talking; to be full of life and joy as a child, of anger and want in death; to be annoyed by the traffic because you can't fly your helicopter; to be left without a wife, or too busy to be there for her; to find a place to slowly corrode in and leave the world without anyone asking what happened. The "friends" will maybe run a marathon in the location of your death and form a charity to support your family and all you accomplished in your life.