As I was driving home from spin class last night, I had a desperate urge to pull over the car and go for a run. When I say “desperate”, I mean I had images of myself putting the car in park in the middle of the road, less than a 1/2 mile from my house, and sprinting out the driver’s side door with the keys still in the ignition. And, for a few seconds, I actually thought I might do it. After bringing my body nearly to its breaking point for the past hour going up and down “hills” on the spin bike, having such a strong desire to continue the pain was surprising, to say the least, especially given my not-so-pleasant relationship with running.
I know all the data on exercise becoming habitual and am one of those people who relies on a regular dose of endorphins to keep myself sane, but this was less “I need to work out today” and more “If I don’t work out in the next 5 minutes, despite the fact that I just finished an intense cardio session 5 minutes ago, the world might come to an end.” I can only equate the feeling to that which heroin junkies feel when their last hit just wasn’t enough.
With that in mind, I think I may have just crossed the line from habitual exerciser to full-on endorphin addict. To quote the great Dr. House though, “I said I was an addict. I didn’t say I had a problem.” Fortunately, unlike Dr. House, my addiction is triathlon, not vicodin.
On that note, it’s time for today’s run . . .
