I had a real penchant for horror as a kid. I saw Psycho 2 when I was 7 or 8 years old. I was a fan of Alfred Hitchock and Edgar Allan Poe.
I easily could have been a member of the Addams family. I just gravitated towards the morbid, dark, and scary. To be clear, gore was not my thing. The supernatural was more my thing.
There were many valuable lessons I learned from horror flicks over the years. It's generally a bad idea to move into a house near a cemetery, indian burial ground, etc. Bad things will happen.
Bad things happen no matter what, but REALLY bad things happen when you mess around with the deceased. It's just bad karma.
Drinking and/or smoking weed is pretty much the kiss of death. It's the kind of transgression that all but guarantees death. It's not a question of 'if', but 'when'. The horror tropes demand it.
Engaging in sexual intercourse simply dooms you. Even heavy petting, groping, or fondling can get you killed in a horror movie. Survival here is slim to none.
So, if you kept your pants on, didn't get too high and/or too drunk, you had a pretty good shot at pulling through. But, avoiding the aforementioned was still not a guarantee of survival.
The only one sure fire way to survive a horror film was to simply run like hell. Run as fucking fast and as hard as you possibly can. Run as if your life depends on it because it does.
It was these initial, formative experiences I had as a child that framed the runner I would become. I always ran like Michael Myers was right behind me. What other possible way would one run if this were the case?
Every dog barking in the distance is a hound of hell. Naturally, I would run like hell to avoid the hounds that reside there. What kind of moron wouldn't?
Decades later, I run. I run because Jason is still out there. I don't trifle with comfortable, conversational pace much because Freddy isn't dead. I run like hell because the hounds are nearly upon me and I am hopelessly outgunned.
I run because it's how you survive a horror movie.....