I have started running recently. I realize to the casual observer that it may appear that I am merely walking at a faster than usual pace while bouncing up and down a little bit, but in my mind at least … I am running!
I don’t go very fast, and I certainly don’t go very far. I would use a tortoise vs. the hare analogy, except to be completely honest, this is more of a tortoise vs. a fatter, less motivated, much slower tortoise.
With asthma.
I started running because I wanted to lose some weight, build a little muscle, and get a bit healthier. Although, the more I run, the more I believe that running to get healthy is a bit of an oxymoron. Running hurts. Plain and simple. Every time I do it, I feel like I got run over by a truck and I want nothing more than to just lie down in the middle of the street and let the buzzards finish the job.
How is this healthy?
If seems to be on the same level as saying I hit my hand with a hammer for an hour every day so I have stronger hands. Or maybe: I bang my head on the wall to get smarter.
But still I do it.
I have talked to friends about running, and I asked them how they find the will power to get up every morning, crawl out of a comfortable bed, and punish themselves like the masochists I know them to be. They responded by telling me about something called a “runner’s high.” They described this condition as a feeling of euphoria that suddenly comes over them just as their body begins to fail and they believe that they could not possibly take one more step.
One moment, they feel like they are going to collapse, then the next they are ready to run another ten miles.
I think they are insane.
I have never felt this “runner’s high,” and I am strongly beginning to suspect that it doesn’t actually exist. When I run and push myself as hard as I can, I also reach that point of absolute exhaustion. However, it is usually followed by a brief period of blackout and waking up a few moments later with bits of asphalt and gravel embedded in my palms and knees. I wouldn’t exactly call that a “high.”
I have started to suspect that runner’s high is not a possessive statement (as in the high belongs to the runner). I think it is a contraction of “runner is high,” because I think you have to be crazy or doped up to submit yourself to that torture day after day. That feeling of euphoria that has been described to me is actually nothing more than the mind-altering cocktail of psychotropic and hallucinogenic drugs bathing my friends’ brains before they ever leave the house. Running simply circulates the blood and pumps those pharmaceuticals through their heads faster.
Maybe I am pursuing the wrong activity. Some people are built to run; they just have the right body type for it. I am not one of those people. I was clearly built for other purposes. My body type is ideal for events that involve prolonged periods of inactivity and motionlessness, followed by additional periods of inactivity. Marathon television binging and napping would be good examples.
Swimming might work for me. Exercising in the water puts very little stress on the joints and is much less likely to cause injury. Besides, my kids have told me that I have the ideal physique for swimming. That wasn’t a compliment, by the way. What they meant was that I was too fat to sink. It’s tough to drown when you’re bobbing on the surface of the water like a cork.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. I don’t have a pool, so swimming is not an option. At the moment, my choices are keep running or do absolutely nothing. While doing nothing is tempting (after all I am really good at it) I think I will do the running thing just a bit longer. And to be honest, I do think I am seeing a little bit of progress. This week I managed to run a tiny bit further than I did last week, and I find those results promising. Next week I am hoping to do even better.
So, if you are out driving around and happen to notice me wheezing and sweating on the roadway while trudging along at a blistering three mile-per-hour pace, give me a wave and say hello. If I have enough strength left in me, I might even wave back.
If, however, you come across me lying motionless in a ditch by the side of the road, keep driving. Leave me where I am.
I am probably just enjoying my runner’s high.