The Elusive Endorphins

I just don't get these exercise nuts. All this talk about how running gives them a high. High Schmigh. I've been convinced that any high I ever felt from running came from being lightheaded when I started pre-hyperventilation after numerous unsuccesful attempts to, well, breathe.

Maybe there will come a day when the endorphin rush washes over me and I will understand. I want that day to happen. I want to like exercising. I want to put on my sneakers and tell everyone I'm going to get high and won't be back for an hour or so. I want to engage in the psychosis that propels me to exercise when it's 97 degrees and 97% humidity or 10 degrees and snowing outside.

Despite the fact that my mouth labels these people as nuts ("N-V-T-S nuts!" --Mel Brooks) my mind is really extremely envious. Did these people join a track team in high school? Did their parents run? Did they have influences in their lives that I might not have had? Perhaps. Now here they are influencing me without even knowing it. I now run in place on all the recovery stations at Curves. And a few weeks ago during my walk I made myself run in short bursts on four separate occasions. I felt a bit of a rush, even though I was gasping mightily, my knees kind of hurt, my quads burned for three days and my feet were absolutely trashed. Was that endorphins or was it just pride and disbelief? I might run again someday, if I remember to go out and get some actual running shoes, just to test the feeling I had. Or perhaps I have uncovered a new theory: Endorphins are just the by-products of pride bubbles rising to the surface and bursting.

I'd love to hear from anyone out there who started running when they were big gals. What made you start? What were you feeling at the time? How did you have the guts to continue? Endorphins...true?