I think I’ve become insane due to addiction.

I spend my evenings scouring active.com looking for running events to participate in, always hoping for a cool t-shirt premium. I am scheduled for 5K races virtually every weekend and a 5 mile race in November. I have created my own gym training program to work on speed and endurance, which I partially credit for knocking over three minutes off my 5K run time between July and now. I felt like a douche for not participating in any aspect of the Baltimore Running Festival last weekend and have vowed to run the Frederick half marathon in May, a distance I’m pretty much already trained up to run and complete.

If I’m not racing on a weekend I’m running 8-10 miles around town, even though I wonder what the fuck did I just do that for as soon as I finish and feel shamed the way a 13 year-old feels right after rubbing one out (ok, maybe that was just me). I bought a fucking fuel belt, for crissake. And tights (!) for cold weather running (if it actually decides to get cold around here this year). I track how many miles (169.84 and 162.15) I have on my TWO pairs of premium running shoes, which I will only wear while running on the road/treadmill or walking from the locker room to the treadmill at my gym. I have a Road ID bracelet and really want a Forerunner 305 (thankfully, the jew in me won’t allow me to buy one).

Running is kind of like a crack addiction, and it’s becoming almost as expensive as one for me. Whoever said all you need to run is a pair of shoes and desire is a moron. It’s not that simple. My increasingly vast collection of compression shorts and non-cotton hi-performance running socks alone can attest to that.

It’s all better than sitting on the couch eating Doritos, I guess. Although Doritos are mighty tasty.