Are Runners Assholes?
You know that ‘myth’ that says all runners are assholes?
With me it is not a myth. I am a fucking asshole from the moment I put on my running shoes to the time I take them off.
My paranoia reaches new levels when I’m out running. If an old lady cheers me on, I assume she’s trying to pick fun at me and internally I pray that she gets introduced to the roof of a speeding ambulance.
If I see a family out for a nice Spring stroll and they are taking up all of the pavement I want to shout “What the fuck is this, the fucking Waltons?!?!”.
It’s even worse if the family are out with children and they start to run along beside me laughing. I find this deeply uncomfortable and not just because they always beat me.
When I see someone walking a dog off the leash I become deeply resentful. I start dreaming up a policy where all irresponsible dog owners are fined £1,000,000 and forced to have the words “I’m a complete fucking cunt” tattooed on their forehead. Especially if it’s the old lady who has just cheered me on. If the dog comes up and sniffs me, the only words in my head are “Yeah and you’re a cunt too. Fuck your Mother.”
I get offended when people stop to turn around when I’m running behind them. I may be a cunt, but I’m not a mugger. You’re acting like I breathe like a bulldog fucking a cactus.
Rather than perceiving them as allies, I view other runners with an equal mix of caution and dismay. If someone is running too slow I want to shout “Hurry the fuck up for God’s sake!” from behind them. If someone is running too fast I think they are out to show me up and become quietly intimidated by them.
No-one runs at my speed which is the only true speed.
I view cyclists with equal contempt too. Know what really fucking pisses me off? Amateur cyclists who can’t cycle in a straight line and do that silly fucking weavy thing with their steering. Pick a fucking racing line and stick to it. I’m too tired to keep changing my direction just because you’re an indecisive cunt in a shitty fucking helmet.
Even worse are the ‘Tour De Cunts’ who ride their £15,000 bicycle in Spandex and scream “I’m on your left!” from behind me whilst ringing their bell. They can go and fuck themselves with their dangerous speeds and their sexy fucking bodies.
I start to hate wildlife, especially when I run alongside the canal. I’m almost certain that the grey heron that waddles into the middle of the towpath knows that it’s pissing me off and does it intentionally. When I hear ducks honk I think to myself “What does that even fucking mean, you daft beaked cunt!?!”.
I get vindictive towards passers-by who are too busy to look up from their smartphones whilst walking. I have awful thoughts about them either being mugged or pushed into the canal by onlookers in order to wake them up. I have to breathe louder and stomp my feet just to let them know I’m there.
I hate those who feed birds when I’m running around a park. The last thing I need is 85,000 Swans within a square metre fighting for the last bit of bread. It’s as if I’m starring in a crossover between Forrest Gump and The Birds.
Most importantly I hate myself when I run. Every painful moment from my past will come up and bite me within the space of a mile. I should have stopped running years ago but what can I say?