Improvement, or: Inadvertently driven.

I hate running.
I hate running, because it's terrible for my screaming knees.
I hate running, because it's horrendously boring.
I hate running, because it makes me want to throw up afterwards.
I hate running.
I hate running, yet I've been consistently doing it for 3 months.
I hate running, yet I've worked real hard to take my 5k time from 33:13 to 23:58.
I hate running, yet I've solicited advice from a real runner on a 4 week training program.
I hate runnning, yet I NEED to break my current plateau and get sub-23.
I hate running.
I hate running.

I HATE running, but I seem to be addicted to slowly decreasing or increasing numbers on electronic paper and any possible mechanisms by which I can put this phenomena into effect.

Is this just part of being a man and if so why has it taken 33 years to realise? Why does it matter? Why can't I accept that it's meaningless unless you're a professional and just enjoy exercise instead?

Enjoy exercise? BWAHahahaaAHAhaahaaa! Can't tarry dear friend, I have to go bite the head off a goat, shower in the blood, eat some babies and then go do heavy squats.