
I was at mile 9 and things were not looking good. My breathing was irregular, my thoughts were disjointed and I'd had to fight for every mile of this run. I promised myself that I would just take it one iPod song at a time and that inch by inch, I would make it to 12 miles today if it killed me. It had thus far been an ugly run, but an ugly run is better than no run at all.
And then a new song started. It was a good one. My stride changed to match the beat and then everything happened at once. A chill went down my spine, goosebumps broke out from my scalp to my toes and adrenaline surged forth from my core.
The pavement disappeared from beneath my feet and there were no thoughts at all in my head. There was only focus. It's as if my existence shifted to another dimension. I couldn't stop if I wanted to. My legs moved of their own volition and they were weightless. In the span of 30 seconds, it's as if someone reset my time clock and I was starting with fresh legs. With a grin on my face and sweat streaming down my back, I put the pedal to the metal and streaked through my last 3 miles. Feeling victorious, I felt only the thrill of the last three miles; the first 90 minutes of pain all but forgotten in the aftermath of adrenaline and relief.
That, my friends, is the runner's high. It's a feeling akin to riding a roller coaster or jumping out of a plane, the only difference being that you have to work for it. It doesn't happen with every run and the timing of it varies, but I can tell you that I've never experienced it before mile number 4.
I know some distance runners that chase it like a drug, but it's never been the "goal" for me. I run because I like how I feel when I finish. I like how my legs look when I'm logging 20+ miles a week and I love how life in general never leaves me winded. But the runner's high? That's just a nice and unexpected bonus and today, it was payment for gutting it out even when every cell in my body was dying to just pack it up and go home. And for that, I am grateful.
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