When people say things like “Have fun at the gym!” it’s always made me think “huh?” Politeness leads me respond with “thanks,” but I tend to skip a beat before saying it. Last night I found out why.

As I was in mile six of a run, an uphill climb that I promised myself this morning I’d do, I thought, This is not fun. When I was done, I thought about it. I laid on the ground and sweat and drank cold water and thought about it. I realized: I’m not in the gym to have fun. I’m there for the time I’m not there. I’m there so I feel normal and good and healthy and strong when I’m at work, on the playground, waking up every morning. I’m there for the post-gym drive home, when I beam in the light of just having completed something hard.

But am I there for fun? No, not really.