Some books I've read really romanticise running. It' so natural, anyone can do it, just for up your laces and run, it takes us back to our ancestors when we ran to hunt, it makes you feel free.
Some books should tell the truth. It hurts, it's soul destroying when a sixty year old jogger cannot be caught, you feel like spewing. Or how about the momentum of running bounces your bowels around like marbles in a washing machine and makes you need to run faster cos you need a big shit but your legs aren't up to it.
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