Some days running is a chore. I wake up and the idea of going out and pushing myself physically like that is the absolute LAST thing I am interested in doing. The idea of curling up with my nook, or watching my favorite shows on DVR, or watching Sex and the City the movie for the millionth time.... those activities sound much more enjoyable to me than putting on workout clothes, harnessing the pupster, and hitting the pavement.
Even my cute running skirt and pink running top don't help on these days. My kick-ass running playlist is no help either.
Other days I'm totally up for the challenge mentally, but my body says "umm... yeah, I don't think so babe".
In both situations it ends up being a question of mind over matter. Sometimes it takes a half hour of reading through journal entries about successful runs and inspirational quotes to get my tush off the couch... others it takes a mile of "I think I can" running through my head to keep me putting one foot in front of the other.
I'm proud of the fact that I'm at a point where I care about myself enough to push through whatever barriers come up and stick to my routine. I'm proud of the fact that I'm internally motivated enough to keep at it. I'm proud that I'm able to run 6-9 miles per week.
For some people this may not be anything major. I am well aware that plenty of people run more than that in a day... but for me this is huge. I'm proud of myself because a year ago I never thought in a million years that I could run like this.
Of course, there are some sweet perks to a runnign routine like this, such as weight loss and looking more toned. I can't discount how happy I am about that. The sense of accomplishment I have after finishing a long run though beats vanity every day of the week and twice on Sundays.