I used to run. I never liked it much, but I did it anyway. I was never fleet of foot, and I never ran very far — two or three miles, usually, with the longest effort ever being only about six miles or so.
I did it mainly because I found running to be good training for the will. I disliked it so much that the mental effort it took for me to get out there and do it cultivated a useful kind of inner discipline. But as the years went by the various injuries I’ve accumulated — a teenage hatchet-wound to my left ankle, a torn left ACL with serious meniscus damage, and a shredded right Achilles tendon — made running more and more unpleasant, and so a few years ago I stopped altogether.
I’m happy to see that this turns out to have been exactly the right move.