Runners Appreciation Quotes

As a warrior herself, she could appreciate his 6'1" stature. His physique was honed and sleek, with a runner's build. She could see how he could be lethal in the field – lean like a panther. He would pounce before the enemy knew he was even there.

Nessa had never really felt truly beautiful before, but tonight she not only understood that she was beautiful, she understood that everyone was. That for all the competition and fear and knowing that the next runner was coming up behind you, she had been missing out on how beautiful life could be. She should have been watching and appreciating others instead of waiting inside herself for the right time to shine. The time was now.

To have a goddess like you in his arms and not appreciate it…” He kissed her, unable to resist the lush, succulent mouth so close to his. He put everything he felt into it, so he could wipe out any hurt the Neds of the world had given her. When he broke away, realizing he was treading dangerous ground, she said hoarsely, “You weren’t always so…appreciative. When I said that men enjoyed my company, you said you found that hard to believe.” “What?” he retorted with a scowl. “I never said any such thing.” “Yes, you did, the day that I asked you to investigate my suitors. I remember it clearly.” “There’s no way in hell I ever…” The conversation came back to him suddenly, and he shook his head. “You’re remembering only part, sweeting. You said that men enjoyed your company and considered you easy to talk to. It was the last part I found hard to believe.” “Oh.” She eyed him askance. “Why? You never seem to have trouble talking to me. Or rather, lecturing me.” “It’s either lecture you or stop up your mouth with kisses,” he said dryly. “Talking to you isn’t easy, because every time I’m near you I burn to carry you off to some secluded spot and do any number of wicked things with you.” She blinked, then gazed at him with such softness that at made his chest hurt. “Then why don’t you?” “Because you’re a marquess’s daughter and my employer’s sister.” “What does that signify? You’re an assistant magistrate and a famous Bow Street Runner-“ “And the bastard of nobody knows whom.” “Which merely makes you a fitting companion for a hellion with a reputation for recklessness.” The word companion resonated in his brain. What did she mean by it? Then she pressed a kiss to his jaw, eroding his resistance and his reason, and he knew precisely what she meant. He tried to set her off of him before he lost his mind entirely, but she looped her arms about his neck and wouldn’t let go. “Show me.” “Show you what?” “All the wicked things you want to do with me.” Desire bolted in a fever through his vein. “My God, Celia-“ “I won’t believe a word you’ve said if you don’t.” Her gaze grew troubled. “I don’t think you know what you want. Yesterday you gave me such lovely kisses and caresses and then at the ball you acted like you’d never met me.” “You were with your suitors,” he said hoarsely. “You could have danced with me. You didn’t even ask me for one dance.” Having her on his lap was rousing him to a painful hardness. “Because I knew if I did, I would want…I would need…” She kissed a path down his throat, turning his blood to fire. “Show me,” she whispered, “Show me now what you want. What you need.” “I refuse to ruin you,” he said, half as a caution to himself. “You already have.

IF YOU’RE like me, you appreciate how running improves your life. You like how you feel while you’re running and after a run. You like being healthier and more in control of your destiny. You like the camaraderie and the time alone. You like being outside enjoying nature. You like pushing yourself and the satisfaction that comes from working toward a goal. You like how clear-cut it is, how you get out of it what you put into it. You like that you get to do it on your terms, as casually or seriously as you want. You simply like telling yourself, “I’m a runner.

make sure everyone understands where he stands on this question, let me leave Hume for a moment and break down the assertion into smaller steps. The first, most elementary proposition is that people vary in their knowledge of any given field. That much seems beyond dispute. The next assertion is that the nature of a person’s appreciation of a thing or event varies with the level of knowledge that a person brings to it. All of us can easily think of a range of subjects in which our own level of knowledge varies from ignorant to expert. If you know a lot about baseball, for example, you and an ignorant friend who accompanies you to the ballpark are watching different games when there is one out, runners on first and third, and the batter is ahead in the count.8 The things you are thinking about and looking for as the pitcher delivers the next pitch never cross your ignorant companion’s mind. Is your friend as excited by the game as you? Having as much fun? Maybe or maybe not, but that’s not the point. Your appreciation of what is happening is objectively greater. You are better able to apprehend an underlying reality inhering in the object, and it has nothing to do with your sentiments.

And were you immediately taken with Charlotte, when you found her?" "Who wouldn't be?" Gentry parried with a bland smile. He drew a slow circle on Lottie's palm, stroking the insides of her fingers, brushed his thumb over the delicate veins of her wrist. The subtle exploration made her feel hot and breathless, her entire being focused on the fingertip that feathered along the tender flesh of her upper palm. Most disconcerting of all was the realization that Gentry didn't even know what he was doing. He fiddled lazily with her hand and talked with Sophia, while the chocolate service was brought to the parlor and set out on the table. "Isn't it charming?" Sophia asked, indicating the flowered porcelain service with a flourish. She picked up the tall, narrow pot and poured a dark, fragrant liquid into one of the small cups, filling the bottom third. "Most people use cocoa powder, but the best results are obtained by mixing the cream with chocolate liquor." Expertly she stirred a generous spoonful of sugar into the steaming liquid. "Not liquor as in wine or spirits, mind you. Chocolate liquor is pressed from the meat of the beans, after they have been roasted and hulled." "It smells quite lovely," Lottie commented, her breath catching as Gentry's fingertip investigated the plump softness at the base of her thumb. Sophia turned her attention to preparing the other cups. "Yes, and the flavor is divine. I much prefer chocolate to coffee in the morning." "Is it a st-stimulant, then?" Lottie asked, finally managing to jerk her hand away from Gentry. Deprived of his plaything, he gave her a questioning glance. "Yes, of a sort," Sophia replied, pouring a generous amount of cream into the sweetened chocolate liquor. She stirred the cups with a tiny silver spoon. "Although it is not quite as animating as coffee, chocolate is uplifting in its own way." She winked at Lottie. "Some even claim that chocolate rouses the amorous instincts." "How interesting," Lottie said, doing her best to ignore Gentry as she accepted her cup. Inhaling the rich fumes appreciatively, she took a tiny sip of the shiny, dark liquid. The robust sweetness slid along her tongue and tickled the back of her throat. Sophia laughed in delight at Lottie's expression. "You like it, I see. Good- now I have found an inducement to make you visit often." Lottie nodded as she continued to drink. By the time she reached the bottom of the cup, her head was swimming, and her nerves were tingling from the mixture of heat and sugar. Gentry set his cup aside after a swallow or two. "Too rich for my taste, Sophia, although I compliment your skill in preparing it. Besides, my amorous instincts need no encouragement." He smiled as the statement caused Lottie to choke on the last few drops of chocolate.

Resistance takes energy (if you’re a runner, think about how tired you become after running on a windy day). Since each of us has a limited amount of physical and emotional energy, resistance consumes energy needed for other tasks, including implementing the changes themselves.

Evolved to Run Walking long distances is fundamental to being a hunter-gatherer, but people sometimes have to run. One powerful motivation is to sprint to a tree or some other refuge when being chased by a predator. Although you only have to run faster than the next fellow when a lion chases you, bipedal humans are comparatively slow. The world’s fastest humans can run at 37 kilometers (23 miles) per hour for about ten to twenty seconds, whereas an average lion can run at least twice as fast for approximately four minutes. Like us, early Homo must have been pathetic sprinters whose terrified dashes were too often ineffective. However, there is plentiful evidence that by the time of H. erectus our ancestors had evolved exceptional abilities to run long distances at moderate speeds in hot conditions. The adaptations underlying these abilities helped transform the human body in crucial ways and explain why humans, even amateur athletes, are among the best long-distance runners in the mammalian world. Today, humans run long distances to stay fit, commute, or just have fun, but the struggle to get meat underlies the origins of endurance running. To appreciate this inference, try to imagine what it was like for the first humans to hunt or scavenge 2 million years ago. Most carnivores kill using a combination of speed and strength. Large predators, such as lions and leopards, either chase or pounce on their prey and then dispatch it with lethal force. These dangerous carnivores can run as fast as 70 kilometers (43 miles) per hour, and they have terrifying natural weapons: daggerlike fangs, razor-sharp claws, and heavy paws to help them maim and kill. Hunters

Whether it’s putting on a bunny costume and running with friends, or simply appreciating the whining coming out of the guy next to you, races offer moments when you can simply enjoy the people around you and feel happy.

Could it be possible?—as by the match with which Stuyvesant and I lighted our cigars, we saw my watch—ten o’clock! “Stuyvesant,” I whispered, “we are in for an adventure sure enough. I don’t know exactly where we are, but the horses are about used up, and I’m frozen.” He turned and boldly told the party our situation, trying to make it out as a jolly good joke. The ladies did not appreciate it, except little Lucy. She did not say much, but evidently thought it a most delightful experience of romantic reality. Adelaide and Mrs. Grayson were really alarmed, and I am pretty sure that as we drove on again, I heard Cousin Daisy repeating parts of Eastman’s Snow Storm: “But cold and dead by the sunken log, Are they who came from the town.” We pushed on for another half hour, which seemed a whole night time, and then pulled up before a farmhouse, in which the inmates were a long while under blankets. A rascally cur screeched and yelped at us. That, however, and our united voices calling for about ten minutes, aroused someone, for we heard a sash frostily resist lifting, and a male nightmare full voice say, “What in the devil do you want?” Stuyvesant asked for the necessary information, and we learned that we were twelve miles from our destination and four from the nearest village. The window dropped with a bang, but the word reached me, too, something like “jam,” or “slam,” or “ram.” “Ho! Halloo!” sang out Stuyvesant in alarm, “where in the mischief are you driving, Earnest? Here we are over the runners in a drift.” The fact is, I had my eyes on a dark, irregular building just ahead, and I was trying to make out if it was a poorhouse or a jail.

However, what an opportunity for a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. A chance to truly go somewhere consequential, somewhere distant by dog team. What a thrill it would be to soak in the very essence of a trail known only vicariously through book and legend. How overpowering the thought: To ride runners over a pioneer’s boulevard, where august spirits of old-time dog men sit in watch. Here was an occasion where all the noble qualities of a noble animal could be demonstrated to an ever-growing remote and mechanized world. Dare I hope that such an event would excite a renewed interest in the historic trail? That my adopted hometown, indeed all the communities along the way, would begin anew, an appreciative relationship with that heritage treasure? Yes, I just had to do it. There could never be another first Iditarod Race, and for that matter, the first could well be the last.

She shakes her head again and swipes her kit off the ground. “Doubtful,” is her reply as she walks away. I can’t help but appreciate the way her cargo pants hug the round globes of her ass. The things I’d do to that ass. “Bet I can make you come harder too.” She laughs, a girlish laugh. Not her usual throaty husk. “I’d like to see you try.” Challenge accepted.

I’ll be better company than a dildo. I promise.” She shakes her head again and swipes her kit off the ground. “Doubtful,” is her reply as she walks away. I can’t help but appreciate the way her cargo pants hug the round globes of her ass. The things I’d do to that ass. “Bet I can make you come harder too.” She laughs, a girlish laugh. Not her usual throaty husk. “I’d like to see you try.” Challenge accepted.

Training, doing something for myself, makes me happier and more appreciative of the time I have with my son. Being a runner makes me a better mother, and being a mother makes my running better.

IF YOU’RE like me, you appreciate how running improves your life. You like how you feel while you’re running and after a run. You like being healthier and more in control of your destiny. You like the camaraderie and the time alone. You like being outside enjoying nature. You like pushing yourself and the satisfaction that comes from working toward a goal. You like how clear-cut it is, how you get out of it what you put into it. You like that you get to do it on your terms, as casually or seriously as you want. You simply like telling yourself, “I’m a runner.

Zara listened intently, enjoying his insight, and appreciative of his openness, pleased that he felt comfortable enough to share his wants, and desires with her. Once they pulled up to the secluded, well-kept mansion, that was obviously from another time, he escorted her out of the car, and held her hand as they walked on the narrow red runner that covered the cobblestone path, and lead right up to the oversized red doors.

I think that if you regularly practice an activity that involves moving your body a lot, you will love your body for what it allows you to do, not for what it looks like. If you’re a dancer, a runner, a yogi or a soccer player, you need your body’s cooperation to be able to perform. So you’ll treat it right for that reason. And appreciate all of its strength and beauty also for that reason.

Lottie scarcely had time to appreciate the graceful design of the house's interior before they were approached by a lovely woman. The woman's blond hair was much darker than her own, the color of aged honey. It had to be Lady Cannon, whose face was a delicate copy of Gentry's severely handsome features. Her nose was less bold, her chin defined but not quite as decisive as her brother's, her complexion fair instead of tanned. The eyes, however, were the same distinctive blue; rich, dark, and fathomless. Lady Cannon was so youthful in appearance that one would never have guessed that she was older than her brother by four years. "Nick," she exclaimed with an exuberant laugh, coming forward and lifting up on her toes to receive his kiss. He enclosed her in a brief hug, rested his chin on the crown of her head, then drew back to look at her appraisingly. In that one instant, Lottie saw the remarkable depth of feeling between the two, which had somehow survived years of distance, loss, and deception.