There's No Such Thing as a "Fun Run"

This Saturday, my friends and I will celebrate our fourth annual holiday party. A relatively small group of us gather at a house where four of my high school friends live together outside of Boston and hold a potluck dinner. We get dressed up, take pictures, have a gift exchange, and play drinking games. It's the one time all year that we're all in the same place at the same time.

My friend Dan, who is enrolled in med school in Ft. Lauderdale, recently flew back up for winter break, and one of the first topics that came up was how excited we were for the holiday party. We discussed the custom photo cake that I ordered, amusing stories from past parties, and how amped we were to watch Ohio face off against Troy in the R+L Carriers New Orleans Bowl (wake me when it's New Year's Day).

Then he hits me with this: "I don't know how much I can drink, though. I'm running a 5K the next morning."

As it turns out, at least four or five of my friends are voluntarily getting up early on the Sunday morning after the holiday party to go run around the city streets. Did I mention it's December in Boston? This got us on the topic of 5Ks and running for sport in general, something that I admit I will never understand. Every time I've gone running in my life has been either to train for an actual sport or I was playing said sport. Running is just as tiring as playing a sport, yet there is no winner or score or dynamic aspect to it beyond the moment you realize "crap, I have to turn around and do that whole distance again to get home," and it motivates people to wear bizarre, otherwise socially unacceptable clothing.

That's not to say I can't admire people that do enjoy running. I know some people that train for and run marathons. I think these people are certifiably insane, but, damn, they are impressive too. I look at them the same way I look at snake handlers, sword swallowers, and guys who can pull tractors with their teeth—that is amazing that you can do that, but I have no interest in joining you. But a 5K is not a marathon. I asked my friend Greg, another 5K-er, how long this race on Sunday actually is.

"A 5K is 3.5 miles," he said.

"That's it?" I replied. "I could run that."

"Yeah. Anyone can do it. That's the point."

If anyone can do it, then where is the sense of accomplishment that would come with a marathon or even a half-marathon? If it's something that you can roll out of bed hungover and do, why bother?

Now, it can be worth doing something that we wouldn't usually do or might be outside our comfort zone if it raises money for a good cause. So I asked Dan if he was raising money for a foundation and he said that the race costs around $25 to run.

"What does that go to?" I asked.

"No, that's just how much it costs to participate."

So, wait. Not only are they getting up bright and early to run a moderate distance in the cold, but they're paying someone to do it? And that person isn't a charity? Why wouldn't you just walk down to the local basketball courts, play a game of pickup ball, and drop off a donation of blankets to the Salvation Army on your way home? That sounds like a far more productive morning to me than this adventure into the land of hypothermia, dry heaves, and leg cramps.

Knowing how skeptical I was of the situation, Greg, Dan, and their cohorts tried to use the one angle that they thought would convince me this was a good idea.

"Usually the 5K ends near a local bar where everyone gets together and drinks afterword," they said.

Well, that sounds a bit more enticing, adding a social aspect to the event, but after thinking about it for a moment, I asked, "Couldn't I just sleep in and meet you all at the bar instead of running there?"

"Yeah, you could."

"Better yet, I could eat and drink with my friends the night before at a holiday party rather than
pant heavily into a pint surrounded by sweaty strangers."

I suppose I can see some of the upside of running. You can do it by yourself wherever and whenever. It builds up your cardiovascular system and maybe in other people it promotes the endorphins I get from doing sports (or as I call it, running with a purpose). The summer after I finished college, I lived by the boardwalk in Long Beach, New York, one of the most beautiful places to go running that I know of, and from time to time I would jog to one end of the boardwalk and back if I didn't have the opportunity to work out any other way. But I just can't abide paying a stranger twenty-five bucks for the privilege of waking up early on a Sunday to run a few miles in the dead winter.

Especially if it might lead to a subdued holiday party the night before.

*Photo Courtesy of Slightly North via Creative Commons License