I run therefore I am … a runner?

Something about the word jogging irritates me.  As in, no I didn’t just get back from a jog (add a touch of disgust to your pronunciation of the word jog).  I went for a run (add snooty emphasis to the word run).   Why do I feel mildly insulted when someone refers to me as a jogger?   What is the difference between a runner and a jogger anyway? 
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is a finisher’s medal?  George Sheehan once famously declared that the difference between a runner and a jogger is a signature on a race application.  I suspect he said this before the days of online registration.  Runners train to compete, joggers, erm, run?  Even an entry isn’t enough for some hardliners.  They think if you are racing for a t-shirt and a medal and not a PB, you are a jogger.  It’s not enough to race, you must race for an approved reason.
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is speed?  As many running shoe ad campaigns have asserted, running is fast, jogging is slow.  If there is a pace difference, what is the magic cut-off?  Quicker than an 8 minute mile and you are running, slower than an 8-minute mile and you are jogging?  And what about runners who go on different types of runs, some of which might be at a so-called ”jogging” pace but are planned training runs (the easy runs, the recovery runs, perhaps the endurance runs).  More problematically, speed does not speak to intensity – an 6-minute mile might barely increase the heart rate run for some and be 5-K race pace for others.  So if an 6-minute mile is easy, is it still a run or is it a jog?   Speed being relative, this hardly seems like a suitable distinction. 
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is linguistic?  Runners speak in acronyms: LSD, PB, BQ, DOMS, V02, DNF, ITB, RICE.  Tempo, intervals, anaerobic, bonk, electrolytes are just some of the basic words dominating a runner’s vernacular.  Joggers giggle when you say fartlek. 
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is a little bit of crazy?  Runners run in hail, thunderstorms, knee deep snow, on their wedding day, before giving birth.  They seek out races in punishing climates, with hills so tough they have names, and at distances you think twice about driving.   They keep running logs detailing the distance, pace, heart rate, weather, shoes, weight, price of gas, and countless other tidbits – and they actually refer back to the entry at a later date.  The running streakers go years without missing a day pounding pavement.  A runner plans vacations around races; I hear Boston in April is lovely.  A jogger, in the words of Dean Karnazas, is a runner who still has a life.
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is the shirt on your back?  A runner dresses in gear and a jogger wears outfits.  For those of us molded by the 1980s: a joggers may wear a warm-up suit and sweatbands, while listening to Olivia Newton John Get Physcial on their walkman.  Or they wear the Rocky sweatpants and hoodie and pump their arms at the end of every run.  A runner wears high tech anti-itch/stink/sweat materials, reflective strips, and a tight fit that leaves nothing to the imagination.  A runner wears a singlet, a jogger a tank top.  A runner wears sport-specific running shoes, a jogger wears trainers.  Trainers include any footwear they find in the closet that could be remotely considered athletic, like their tretorns from 1982.  On some, the difference may be even easier to spot simply by looking at the cut of their shorts.  Who wears short shorts?  A runner does. 
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is aches and pains?  A jogger still has all their pretty pink toenails.  A runner is not afraid to show you where it ‘really hurts’, on occasion descends stairs backwards to relieve their troubled quads, buys special band-aids for their nipples, and has had at least one conversation about “going” on the run. 
 
The difference between a runner and a jogger is state of mind?  Some people are reticent to label themselves a runner, perhaps because they do not match their own conception of what makes a runner a runner.  It could be that a jogger becomes a runner the moment they define themselves such.  For some that may mean finishing a race, running at a particular pace, finally buying that GPS, running for the fist time without the motivation of music, trading the treadmill for the great outdoors, wearing tights in public, spending $175 on shoes that don’t come in a heel, or joining a running club.  I [insert random criterion], therefore I run.
  
The difference between a runner and a jogger is the runner cares about the difference?
 
Disclaimer - the preceding entry should be read with tongue firmly planted in cheek.