You ever start out on a run, and immediately, your heart rate spikes, your legs feel like two tree stumps attached to your torso that for whatever reason, it feels like you just got shanked with a 12 inch blade which was implanted firmly into you ribs.
You pick up the pace…
You are gasping for air, trying to find any sort of rhythm in an attempt to catch your breath, but it’s just not happening.
You are miserable, questioning why running was ever created in the first place and cursing everybody & anybody you feel may be responsible for forcing upon you this self-inflicted torture session…
You pick up the pace…
Eventually, you settle in. Your heart rate actually begins to come down, the blood starts flowing to the legs a little more easily and the perceived dagger in your side amazingly disappears…
You pick up the pace…
Pretty soon you work up a nice lather and actually start feeling kind of good.
Your run actually feels… Shall I dare say it? E A S Y
You pick up the pace…
Endoorphins are being released from your brain and fed into your blood stream as if it was coming from a big IV bag of F*CK I FEEL GOOD.
You pick up the pace…
The dopamine kicks in and you can now easily understand how somebody could get addicted to crack. Except this isn’t crack, it’s a tad bit healthier for you…
You pick up the pace…
Then, the serotonin takes over and you start feeling like a hard charging Chippendale wearing a string mankini sporting some serious frontal bulge…
You pick up the pace…
Now you are floating, there is not a thing in the world that can interrupt this bliss of pure ecstasy. Your mind becomes clear and thoughts begin to flow like the bottles of tequila were flowing last night at Marquee…
You pick up the pace…
The floating sensation now feels more like flyin’.
The time has come to save the world by shamelessly pimping a book you wrote called The F*IT List – Life Lessons From A Human Crash Test Dummy and firing out daily emails that will save the next generation from becoming a bunch of WEENIES…
Welcome to the runner’s HIGH…
It’s F*CK IT FRIDAY, let’s rejoice!
-EB
In honor of professional triathlete Linsey Corbin, we will call this run…
“When it hurts, pick up the pace.”
(Her advice to me before my first Ironman)
F*It Friday
Negative Split each mile…