Best 12552 quotes in «running quotes» category

How far can you run? You’ll never know if you don’t move.

How long you run matters. How far you run counts. But the fact that you run is what makes you a runner.

I am running and singing and when it’s raining I’m the only one left on the open street, smiling with my eyes fixed on the sky because it’s cleaning me. I’m the one on the other side of the party, hearing laughter and the emptying of bottles while I peacefully make my way to the river, a lonely road, following the smell of the ocean. I’m the one waking up at 4am to witness the sunrise, where the sky touches the sea, and I hold my elbows, grasping tight to whatever I’ve made of myself.

...I couldn't see him anymore, and I couldn't see anybody, and I knew what the loneliness of the long-distance runner running across country felt like, realizing that as far as I was concerned this feeling was the only honesty and realness there was in the world and I knowing it would be no different ever, no matter what I felt at odd times, and no matter what anybody else tried to tell me

I don't get it,' Caroline said, bemused. 'She's the only one with wings. Why is that?' There were so many questions in life. You couldn't ever have all the answers. But I knew this one. It's so she can fly,' I said. Then I started to run.

I don't answer. I shut my eyes and hold my breath and hope whoever it is will think I'm not here and go home.

I could feel the bite of the autumn air, warning us all of the harsh winter that was on its way.

I don't mind running with turtles. From book: stuff I think about By Sondra Faye

I'd rather be the last runner who saw a cool thing that everyone else missed, than to be a speedy runner who had a miserable experience.

I don't think my moped could outrun a cheetah." "Hun," Claire says. "There are more important things you need to outrun, and a moped isn't going to help you with any of those.

If I am sedentary at a time when I have zero excuse for being sedentary, I call this "blerching.

If ever I was running, it was towards you.

If he could do one thing, he could run. He had spent his life running, secrets spitting at his back.

I fear living a life similar to the movie "Groundhog Day", where I wake up in the morning, work eight to five, come home and watch television for a few hours, then go to bed, only to wake up the next day and do the same thing. Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. I don't want to look back on my year and see nothing but a long string of eight to fives.

If it's a nod from society you're looking for, run a marathon. But if it's a life-changing experience of personal strength and perseverance that you want, finish an ultra.

If it was easy, the reward at the end would mean nothing.

If you can run six miles on a summer day then you, my friend, are a lethal weapon in the animal kingdom. We can dump heat on the run, but animals can't pant while they gallop.

If we push on, we begin to feel a vague, tingling sense of who, or what, we really are. It's a powerful feeling, strong enough to have us coming back for more, again and again.

If you can’t run fast, run slow. If you can’t run slow, walk. If you can’t walk, crawl. All that matters is that you don’t stop moving.

If there is any true value in running as a sport, it is that it is a great leveler. Runners don't gear up, armoring ourselves like football players; we strip down to the minimum and empty our hands and become what we are at our most natural, and thus we are reduced to what we all have in common: legs, lungs, heart, and mind. We are all out there on the same course, heading the same way, whatever our speed, a brother/sisterhood of chafed thighs and aching feet.

If you only ran when you felt like running, you wouldn’t make it very far.

If you drive fast enough on a rough road you glide over the bumps and skim the pot holes - it's a smooth ride. If you charge without fear over boulders and beach debris it's the same as running on hard flat sand. The only problem is slowing down, or stopping.

If you schlep a shit job everyday, keep and feed a little secret life--whether it's writing, art, running, music, your thoughts. It's yours.

If you run, you better be faster than my gun. -Weasel to illegal aliens

If you're on the treadmill next to me, the answer is YES, we are racing.

I highly recommend running through grassy trails in the rain. There is a haven of serenity out in nature, the sound of raindrops and the scent of flowers, the feeling of the water along my skin. Even in the middle of a busy city and an insane world, there is beauty everywhere. All we have to do is pause long enough to notice.

I grew up a fat kid, and in a way The Blerch is my former self. I run because I'm terrified of becoming that kid again.

I had run to boarding school to escape myself. But I couldn't escape who I was or what I'd done, no matter how fast or far I ran. The crows were just a reminder of that. They wanted back in. My past wasn't done with me. Not yet.

I hate “fun runs” because, seriously, fuck you.

I have to race because racing is a part of me. But I had to learn to race from a place of joy. Not pain. Not sorrow. Not anger. Not to fix things I can’t control. But for a connection with other people. With the wilderness. With myself.

I don't know. I spent most of my life moving around. My dad and I had just settled in one place when all this happened. I..." She shrugged. "I guess I'm hoping it doesn't last much longer. I want a home." She glanced over her shoulder. "I know you do, too, even if you don't like to admit it." I thought she was talking to me. Then Derek stepped into the doorway. "He wasn't eavesdropping," she said to me. "He just doesn't like me being alone with strangers in the house." She aimed a pointed look his way. "Even if I end up rescuing him from danger as often as he rescues me.

I just run faster and hit the slowest of the lead boys. I wink and race by him. He smells like onions and he has big, wet circles in the pits of his shirt. He speeds up, but can only stay with me for a tenth of a mile before he drops back. Then it’s Nick. I cruise next to him. He’s some sort of running god, because he isn’t close to being winded. His stride is long, powerful, and quick. “Hi.” Why I said this, I do not know. He’s cute. Okay. I am a sucker for cute boys and he was nice to Issie. Plus, he has good hair and he isn’t as pale as most Maine males. He looks like he works in the sun, or at least has seen the sun once, maybe many weeks ago. Plus, life is all supposed to be about making love, not war. My dad listened to John Lennon; I know this stuff. “You’re fast,” he says, easy. No huffing. No puffing. No blowing the house down. “So are you.” We run together, keeping pace. The only one ahead of us is Ian, who is loping around the track as if it’s nothing. Nick shrugs at me while he runs, which is really something, because when I’m running full tilt it’s hard for me to speak, let alone break form to shrug. “You can go faster, can’t you?” I huff out. He just gives a little smile again and then his eyes shift into something cold, like gravestones with just the barest information about a life etched onto them. “Zara,” he whisper-says. I lean in closer to hear him. “What?” My voice is not a whisper. It matches the thudding beat of my heart, the bass of the music that blares out of the speakers. “Awesome job, new girl!” Devyn yells, clapping.

I kept running until someone saw the chase and hid me inside their house.

I grew up feeling fearless, hanging upside down in Avery Park, running just a little faster than my own heartbeat.

I highly recommended running through grassy trails in the rain. There is a haven of serenity out in nature, the sound of raindrops and the scent of flowers, the feeling of the water along my skin. Even in the middle of a busy city and an insane world, there is beauty everywhere. All we have to do is pause long enough to notice.

I just run. I run in void. Or maybe I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void.

I keep running away, As if from something, As if to something. I keep running away, As if from myself, As if to myself.

I know I've got no reason to be crying; I know that there is nowhere left to run. I know that there's no reason to be hiding, I'm just mad at everyone; mad at everyone.

I learned to run toward the pain, not away from it. There is nothing like that feeling: pushing, your legs like two powerhouses, your cadence a seemingly effortless rhythm in sync with your mind, every emotional pain you ever experienced washed away by your power to endure. A personal thought I often have after a great run: The pain of running relieves the pain of living.

I’m going to Bristol,” Matthew said desperately. “I’ll reschedule the meetings. I won’t do anything without your leave. But at least I can gather information— interview the local transport firm, have a look at their horses—” “Swift,” the earl interrupted. Something in his quiet tone, a note of… kindness?… sympathy?… caused Matthew to stiffen defensively. “I understand the reason for your urgency—” “No, you don’t.” “I understand more than you might think. And in my experience, these problems can’t be solved by avoidance. You can never run far or fast enough.” Matthew froze, staring at Westcliff. The earl could have been referring either to Daisy, or to Matthew’s tarnished past. In either case he was probably right. Not that it changed anything. “Sometimes running is the only choice,” Matthew replied gruffly, and left the room without looking back.

Ill lose myself in the pain. It might not make sense. But it works.

I love the laughter of this night. Our footsteps run, and I don't want them to end. I want to run and laugh and feel like this forever. I want to avoid any awkward moment when the realness of reality sticks its fork into our flesh, leaving us standing there, together. I want to stay here, in this moment, and never go to other places, where we don't know what to say or what to do. For now, just let us run. We run straight through the laughter of the night.

I’m afraid they’re not coming.” Abby said fearfully. “Our parents, our teachers – everyone! They’ve disappeared. That’s it. Lights out, Shelly. We’re on our own.

Imagine your kid is running into the street and you have to sprint after her in bare feet," Eric told me when I picked up my training with him after my time with Ken. "You'll automatically lock into perfect form--you'll be up on your forefeet, with your back erect, head steady, arms high, elbows driving, and feet touching down quickly on the forefoot and kicking back toward your butt." You can't run uphill powerfully with poor biomechanics," Eric explained.

I'm just a regular guy who up until a few years ago totally underestimated what I felt I was capable of. Since then my experiences have taught me that we are all capable of the extraordinary in our lives.

I'm more of a sprinter than a marathoner when it comes to many aspects of life. For example, when I'm running. Over short distances--up to two yards--I can run faster than cheap panty hose on an itchy porcupine. But over long distances, I'm not so impressive. I try to compensate for my lack of long-distance endurance by having good form. I'm told that my running style is quite majestic. That's probably because I learned to run by watching nature films in which leopards chased frightened zebras. Now when I run, I open my eyes real wide and let my tongue slap the side of my face. If you saw it, you'd be saying, "That's very majestic." And then you'd run like a frightened zebra. That's why my homeowners association voted to ask me to do my jogging with a pillowcase over my head.

I'm alone, but I'm not lonely. I like who I am. I like who I'm becoming.

I'm just scared I won't run as fast as I did my freshman year,' I admitted, choking back tears. Coach Woj looked at me for a moment, his eye gentle. 'You don't have to.

I'm like my cat. I run around in circles in my apartment, because the big bad outside is just too big. And scary. And outside. How do stray cats deal with all the stress of having no protection from all the air that’s going on around there, without anyone to guide and control it into timidity?

I'm saying that it's a big decision. Your first love is important. It's part of your story The story you'll tell yourself, the one you'll tell about yourself, for the rest of your life.