I get why Christian dudes run. There's the allusion to Paul's "run the race set before us," yes, but it also exhausts you utterly. Warriors in my faith get that exhausted to force lust to be less of an issue. All theory, of course; lots of our kind don’t run, don’t do anything physical. Warring only in our souls. Flesh against spirit, till we die. Another wondrous way to chew gravel in failure against one’s lusts, but it must hurt less. We all, brothers believing in Christ, are failing all over the place. We use our failures to depress ourselves to fail more. We use victories to embarrass and shame others into listening to us.
I could be wrong about running; I've been good at it for a minute of my life, total. One time, ever, in my existence. Point being, when I lift weights, my testosterone pops and I get "quirky" around the house. My wife starts watching out for me, tranquilizer rifle strapped to her back, eyes wide. Bear traps laid out all around her while she tries to do the dishes.
As a guy does, sometimes, I try to "chase her around the house." An old analogy about horny husbands, but decent, since I'm all sorts of horny when I’m in the gym often, and try to share that horny with her like a treasure chest of enjoyment for the both of us. Then, as is bound to happen…
On the first day or third, she's not into it. At all.
I REALLY am and feel insulted, since she only had a bad day or three, and got in a car wreck, and had to go to three funerals. So what, right? I’m horny!
“Just have sex with me and you’ll feel better!” I might say. The joking tone masking my serious wants.
Then we fight.

All this just points to the illusion that my wife is my "release button," as Youth Groups and older Church ideas go. Yet she's also God’s child, a creation of beauty and a reflection of His perfect kindness TO ME. Not some nut-button I press to escape reality. She's a human freaking being, and I suck for treating her like that. Yet I find myself like this over and over. I guess I should just stop going to the gym.
What do I do, then, with my NEEDS when she's not in-office sexually? Do I abstain, try to focus or transmute that red-hot energy? Sometimes, yes. It’s wildly powerful if you can harness it. Tricky, though.
I also try to rest it away, relax, zone out, play games or watch TV. To get off that sexual ledge, be less wild about it all. Of course, that always works!
You and I know the truth: that presents problems, too. Any time I feel slighted or needy, I get my self-pity on! Now instead of dancing or stomping around my home, I mope in slow-motion. Or show it, really giving out angry stares and grumpy, male energy.
Listening to my depression, want to escape.
Honestly, or dishonestly, my ol’ nut need wears lots of funny hats, taking many forms to con me into doing the literal thing that I don’t want. To be the guy I used to, but worked VERY hard to change, which leaves me double-defeated.

It feels quite clear to me, at long last, that my desire for control is what ACTUALLY dictates what I do, when, and how. Lust issues are very, very included! I take control from Christ, my maker, with a silly look on my face and run into the shadows for what I think is a bit of "escape." A bit of “release” from all the things I’m not getting from my wife “who doesn’t get me” or to mock life’s difficulty setting by cheating my hormonal systems into getting me high, without drugs. I rarely, REALLY feel that way about my wife. She’s pretty freaking awesome, actually. I just build these walls between us, blame her for them, then excuse myself to the nearest internet connection.
Pointedly, porn isn’t the only way one can use "free choice” to feel powerful. That’s my new “epiphany” and I’m chewing on it now. Feel free to chew along in the comments below. It's just not escape, though, that I want when I take my life’s reigns from God’s hands. It's a sad return to slavery, for a few minutes where I feel empowered to see what I want, do what I want. It’s taking my life away from the good so I can feed the bad in me, all to feel like I “control” or “have power over” my minutes spent pouring scalding trash juice directly into my eyes.
Just apply bleach.

Good talk.