Huff puff

I think I finally get it. I've been a runner off and on for the last six years or so, and the whole time I have wondered about the endorphin high: the fabled, exercise-induced euphoria that I half expected to be like a two-tab acid trip. I kept waiting for the buzz and wondering why running left me not ecstatic but merely sweaty and tired.

But yesterday morning, something finally clicked. I was sitting in my home office and fretting about this and that work obligation, and finally I said to myself: fuck it, go for a run. So off I trotted, my mind racing with anxious thoughts. As is my wont, I flipped through stations on my little radio as I ran. I reached my turning point, did an about-face and headed home. My mind was still racing.

After a couple of miles, though, the anxious thoughts subsided. I tuned in the oldies station and heard the opening notes of the Beatles' "Day Tripper." I began marvelling at the hooky brilliance of the song. I felt great, beatific--ecstatic, even.

I'm convinced this was endorphin-related. As evidence, I offer the fact that I was similarly awed by the hooky brilliance of the song with which the oldies station followed "Day Tripper": the Doobie Brothers' "What a Fool Believes."