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Published on October 25th, 2013 | by Richard Black

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Where is My Runner’s High?

As some of you may know I recently began jogging for vanity and I’m happy to report that I’m still huffing an wheezing away. I’m even happier to report that I can run two, or even three, miles with only a few concerned looks from the various pedestrians, motorists and other passersby.

What I don’t understand, more precisely what I’ve never felt, is the “Runner’s High”. I’ve been high before and at no point during my run or afterward have I ever felt high and I know high.

As a much younger man I had an enthusiasm for all things pharmaceutical. In fact I have only two memories from my twenties one involves projectile vomiting at a Widespread Panic concert I’d been at for eighteen days. The other involves the sensation of the color blue and the thought that I was being held, firmly but gently, by a very large bear. Everything else from that decade of my life is a blur and from what people who knew me back then say that’s not entirely bad.

Suffice it to say that I know “high” and the sickly trickle of endorphins in no way resembles any “high” I’ve ever had. The only tie i can find between running and an evening in an altered state is nausea.

The one benefit that vigorous physical exercise has over pharmacological experimentation is that after a brisk run my mouth doesn’t feel like I spent the night licking used cars.  On the downside I still have the pounding headache, cramped innards cramp and the general feeling that Dolph Lundgren worked me over with a crowbar laced with strychnine. For those of you who don’t know Dolph Lundgren please show some initiative and give him a Google. I’m sure he’d be happy for the attention.

At most when I’m done hacking my way down the sidewalk I feel a sense of relief; happy that I haven’t passed out from a stroke or heart attack and am not flopping around on the concrete like a landed sturgeon.

Sure I might catch a rush of endorphins or serotonin but it pales in comparison to the mellow I used to get from the rancid ball of opium I smoked almost 20 years ago.

When it’s all said and done I’m not running for the rush. I’m over 21 and have access to all the booze I can drink. If I were running to get high I’d probably just hold my breath like all of those idiots I see on You Tube and play the pass-out game instead.

I’m not running for the way it makes me feel. Aside from the vanity aspect I’m running for the way it makes my wife feel. According to the love of my life I’m “less of a douschbag,” when I’ve had my morning run.

Like any good husband I want my wife to be happy (and not just because my financial well being is dependent upon staying in her good graces.)


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