Sometimes you just need to run for your life.
I am in no way a proficient runner. With bad posture, a titanium rod running the length of my left femur, and two screws lodged solidly in my knee, the act of running is a burden and a continuous inventory of the premature malfunctioning of my twenty-six year old frame. Add to this the fact that I am deceivingly out-of-shape for my slight and wiry stature, and one might wonder why I would run at all.
To clarify, I do not run on a regular basis. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I have ran in the last year.
But sometimes, running is the only option.
