Personal trainers were not quite right for me either, their rabid personalities never really meshing with mine. Specifically, their sheer enthusiasm and their love of the outdoors only served to highlight two things I fundamentally dislike: sheer enthusiasm and love of the outdoors.

Running can be anything you need it to be, big or small. It can help you beat ill health. It can burn off five or 10 or 50 pounds and change your life. Or in the time it takes to watch a few video clips, it can clear your head, give you a shot of endorphins, and salvage a forgettable day.

This time of year, as every year, exercise equipment and devices to measure activity are promoted as gifts, although I suspect they are about as welcome to the chronic couch potato as a set of expensive knives are to someone who never cooks.

Running brings me clarity. Balance. An outlet. Trusted confidantes. A feeling of power. A sense of achievement. Strong legs. Toned arms. I run because being an adult is hard. And being a runner makes it less hard.

Do I love it when the alarm rings? No. Am I thrilled when stepping onto the treadmill knowing I'm going to be on it for an hour? No. But do I love how I feel when my workout is complete? Yes.