the masochism of the long-distance runner
The thing about running distance is that you are explicitly, on purpose, and with malice aforethought putting your body under intense stress, and then stepping back and going "bro, why are you freaking out?" When my brother was on the cross-country team in high school, he and the guys considered it a "good race" if you threw up at the end. That meant you'd really pushed yourself, to the point where your body said FUCK YOU TOO, BUDDY.
Physiologically, the puking (or the agonizing shits, that's a good one, too) that comes after a long run is just logical; you yanked all the fluids in your body back and forth, you demanded blood be pulled to the extremities instead of staying nicely in the digestive tract, and you jiggled everything all around. What else could happen, really? Shut up and hydrate and remind yourself that it's worth it.
(Disclaimer- not worth it for everyone. If you don't like running, if you don't get to the fun part and it's just pain and grossness, DO NOT FORCE YOURSELF TO RUN ANYWAY. DON'T DO ANY OF THIS STUFF TO YOURSELF OH MY GOD WHY. IT'S AWFUL. Unless, see below.)
I saw a thing once that said "writing is a lot like banging your head against a wall- it mostly feels good when you stop." True, and ditto for running. But oh, the endorphin rush of stopping. Wobbling around on your cool-down walk (don't skip the walking part, especially on a hot day [I live in DC, it is July, they are all hot days] or you can actually go into shock! FUN FACT), gulping air, wiping sweat out of your eyes, feeling like you're floating. Because your brain short on oxygen and long on endorphins masquerading as serotonin.
And WHILE you're running, if you're not overdoing it because then you're just suffering! If! Haruki Murakami wrote, "I run to acquire a void." (He did marathons and ultramarathons, so that presumably sounded nicer than "I run to acquire blood in my pee and to lose my toenails.") The void is really nice, the part where your brain shuts up and you just run run run and drift along with your body because, again, you're too short on oxygen in your brain to do anything else. Fantastic.
I'm such a junkie for it. It's awful. I'm lying here sipping Gatorade and staring at my half-marathon training schedule, thinking about how I'm totally going to buy one of the "13.1" stickers for my car and be THAT JACKASS if I finish on September 1. I'm going to Tweet eleven thousand pictures of my finisher's medal. If I finish. God, I want to finish. It's like writing a big bang, only instead of sitting at Starbucks crying, you sit in the shower wondering if getting this much sweat salt in your eyes will do any kind of permanent damage.
My hobbies are SO FUCKING TERRIBLE. No wonder my cat judges me.
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Physiologically, the puking (or the agonizing shits, that's a good one, too) that comes after a long run is just logical; you yanked all the fluids in your body back and forth, you demanded blood be pulled to the extremities instead of staying nicely in the digestive tract, and you jiggled everything all around. What else could happen, really? Shut up and hydrate and remind yourself that it's worth it.
(Disclaimer- not worth it for everyone. If you don't like running, if you don't get to the fun part and it's just pain and grossness, DO NOT FORCE YOURSELF TO RUN ANYWAY. DON'T DO ANY OF THIS STUFF TO YOURSELF OH MY GOD WHY. IT'S AWFUL. Unless, see below.)
I saw a thing once that said "writing is a lot like banging your head against a wall- it mostly feels good when you stop." True, and ditto for running. But oh, the endorphin rush of stopping. Wobbling around on your cool-down walk (don't skip the walking part, especially on a hot day [I live in DC, it is July, they are all hot days] or you can actually go into shock! FUN FACT), gulping air, wiping sweat out of your eyes, feeling like you're floating. Because your brain short on oxygen and long on endorphins masquerading as serotonin.
And WHILE you're running, if you're not overdoing it because then you're just suffering! If! Haruki Murakami wrote, "I run to acquire a void." (He did marathons and ultramarathons, so that presumably sounded nicer than "I run to acquire blood in my pee and to lose my toenails.") The void is really nice, the part where your brain shuts up and you just run run run and drift along with your body because, again, you're too short on oxygen in your brain to do anything else. Fantastic.
I'm such a junkie for it. It's awful. I'm lying here sipping Gatorade and staring at my half-marathon training schedule, thinking about how I'm totally going to buy one of the "13.1" stickers for my car and be THAT JACKASS if I finish on September 1. I'm going to Tweet eleven thousand pictures of my finisher's medal. If I finish. God, I want to finish. It's like writing a big bang, only instead of sitting at Starbucks crying, you sit in the shower wondering if getting this much sweat salt in your eyes will do any kind of permanent damage.
My hobbies are SO FUCKING TERRIBLE. No wonder my cat judges me.
The Dreamwidth copy of this post has
comments. Comment there or here, as you like!