What’s with all the running?

My Facebook and Twitter feeds are full of people with race numbers and Fitbit stats. The only shoes my girlfriends are buying are running shoes. Me thinks I’m in the market for new friends. I see a deluge of race photos. Bib numbers, tutus, running skirts, neon laces. And what’s with all the theme races these days? Mud run. Color run. Electric run. Race for the <insert ailment here>. Fun run (an oxymoron). Family run. The list runs on. What the hell are all your people running from? Frankly, I’m sick of being inundated with running related status updates. Here’s a taste. Names have been changed to protect the annoying innocent.

Matilda is up at the butt crack of dawn to run.

Ferdinand just came home from an 18 mile run. (time stamp: 6:00am)

Fanny ate a three egg omelette after her 10K this morning (egg whites only!).

Thomas is running in his 17th marathon this weekend.

Snot froze when I went for a run this morning. It was 10 degrees out…below zero, suckas!

Lucie just finished her 174th 5K this year.

I just signed up to do the Iron Man in Death Valley. Who’s in?

Jack placed first in his age group!

Price celebrated his 40th birthday by running a half marathon!

Selfies at the starting line. Selfies at the finish line. Selfies at mile markers. Selfies at  porta-johns.

I’m over it. I get it. You run. You actually enjoy it. I hear there’s an adrenaline rush somewhere, but I’ve never made it past a mile to find said rush. Just running one mile makes me want to poke pins in my eyes. It’s painfully boring. Running is quite possibly the most excruciating form of exercise I can imagine. I’d rather do yoga. At least in yoga I can lie down.

I run errands.

I run amok.

I run wild.

I run on fumes.

I’ve run up a tab.

I’ve run interference.

I run a tight ship.

I’ve run out of steam, out of time, out of money.

I’ve hit the ground running.

I’ve thought about the long run.

I’ve thought about going on the run.

But one thing I don’t do…is run.