Flee Until Nobody Speaks Your Language

I recently started running. Well, running is a loose term here, because I run marginally faster than I walk. But pride is still present. I'm getting better, building up stamina. I can run four kilometres without stopping, and without feeling like the inside of my stomach is home to ancient tribal dancers who are over-zealous with their spears. I feel strong when I run, and that's weird for me. Feeling strong, I mean.

I'm a relatively weak person. I can't do a push up. I can't stand the idea of somebody thinking anything negative about me. I can't stand it because I have little conviction. I don't think about anything long enough to form a strong opinion about it, and so I have no passion to back up what I say. That passion would make negative opinions bounce off me, because I would know what I believe and be able to articulate it. Instead, I form half-baked opinions and then go about shouting like a fool. I don't like it. Whenever I say something stupid, or rude, or tactless, my first and strongest desire is to simply run away. To Europe. Where nobody knows me and I can live alone and never have to associate with anybody ever again and be mysterious and read lots and lots of books. I could be he biggest coward with the least pride; the fastest runner you've ever seen.