Let’s not pretend.
There are mornings when I bounce out of bed, ready to lace up my trainers and hit the road with a podcast and a sense of purpose.
But most of the time?
I really, truly, can’t be arsed.
Sometimes it’s tiredness. Sometimes it’s rain. Sometimes I’d just rather drink a second cup of tea and watch a man on YouTube explain how to cook a steak I’ll never actually make.
And yet — I run anyway. Not always fast. Not always far. But I get out the door.
This post is about how I do that, even when I’d rather do absolutely anything else.
The Motivation Myth
We’ve been sold this idea that runners are always motivated. That we want to do it. That we feel some magical drive every time our Garmin buzzes or we scroll past a motivational quote on Instagram.
Let me be clear:
Motivation is not what gets me out the door.
If I waited for motivation, I’d run twice a month and feel guilty the rest of the time. I don’t need motivation. I need a system. A few tricks. A bit of bribery. And the ability to override the lazy part of my brain that says, “Nah mate, not today.”
Trick #1: Don’t Think. Just Move.
My golden rule: the less thinking involved, the better.
If I give myself too long to decide whether to run, I won’t. My brain is brilliant at finding excuses — tight calves, threat of rain, vague feeling of tiredness, dishwasher needs emptying.
So I don’t negotiate. I just get dressed. Running kit on. Headphones in. One foot in front of the other.
Once I’m outside, it’s too late to back out. And 9 times out of 10, I’m glad I did it.
Trick #2: The 10-Minute Bargain
This one’s saved me more times than I can count.
I tell myself:
“Just run for 10 minutes. If it’s awful, you can stop.”
Most of the time, once I’ve done 10 minutes, I feel alright. I’m warmed up. I’ve got a rhythm. The resistance fades.
And even if I do stop after 10 minutes? That’s still better than nothing. It still counts. And weirdly, knowing I have permission to quit makes me less likely to do it.
Trick #3: Lower the Bar. No, Lower.
When I really don’t want to run, I shrink the plan.
Instead of aiming for a full 5K, I go out for 2K. Instead of a tempo run, I jog slowly round the block. Some days it’s just a walk with a few jogs thrown in. That still “counts” in my book.
Consistency beats intensity, especially in your 40s. One mediocre run is better than no run. And no one’s handing out medals for midweek brilliance, so why kill yourself?
Trick #4: Get the Playlist Right
Some people like podcasts. Some like silence. I need bangers. The kind of tracks that trick my body into thinking I’ve got more energy than I do.
My go-to running music ranges from 90s dance to dramatic film scores — anything to drown out the sound of my own wheezing and keep the legs turning over.
(And yes, I use Shokz headphones — so I can still hear traffic and pretend I’m not completely dying.)
Music isn’t a luxury. It’s a survival tool.
Trick #5: Stop Waiting for It to Feel Easy
Here’s the truth I wish someone had told me early on:
Running is often hard, even when you’ve been doing it a while.
You’ll still have heavy legs. You’ll still hit mental walls. You’ll still have those weird “why does my ankle feel wrong today?” thoughts 3 minutes in.
The sooner you stop waiting for every run to feel amazing, the easier it is to get on with it.
Not every run needs to be your best. Sometimes it’s just getting through it. And that’s fine.
What Happens When I Do Go
Even on the worst days, here’s what I’ve noticed:
- I never regret going for a run.
- I always feel better afterwards.
- I never think, “I wish I’d stayed on the sofa.”
What I do think is: “That wasn’t so bad,” or, “At least I showed up,” or, “Well, that’s done, now I can eat.”
Sometimes I feel proud. Sometimes I feel smug. Sometimes I feel a bit broken. But I always feel something — and it’s never regret.
What Happens When I Don’t Go
Let’s not pretend we’re all perfect. Sometimes I skip it. Sometimes I give in.
But when I do, here’s what usually follows:
- I feel flat.
- I get irritable.
- I eat like I’ve earned a long run when all I did was scroll.
- I tell myself I’ll “make up for it tomorrow” and then don’t.
The mental fog creeps in. The guilt starts whispering. And it’s harder to start again the next day.
Skipping one run isn’t the end of the world. But two, three in a row? That’s a slump. And I’ve learned to catch it early.
Final Thoughts: You Don’t Have to Want To. You Just Have to Go.
You’re not lazy if you struggle to get out the door.
You’re not weak for needing tricks or bribes or backup plans.
You’re not broken because motivation vanished and you’d rather eat toast than jog laps in the rain.
You’re normal.
And if you go anyway — despite the reluctance, the excuses, the “I can’t be arsed” voice in your head — then that’s not weakness. That’s strength.
So next time you can’t be bothered, remember:
Put on the kit.
Don’t think too much.
Go out for 10 minutes.
Play the good tunes.
Run like no one’s watching (because they aren’t).
Then come home, shower, and bask in the glory of having done the thing.
That’s the win.