Endorphins, my a$$

My main squeeze, Ignacio, and I have different work schedules. I work 9-5, and he works 6-2. I go to the gym in the morning, and he goes to the gym in the afternoon, and we meet in evening, and it works out pretty well.

Our alarm goes off at 4:30 in the A M. He gets up and showers, and I snooze until 5. Then, I get up and get ready to lug my fat a$$ to the gym. At 5 am, I really would prefer to sleep, and everyday is a fight with my willpower, but if I don’t work-out in the morning, I know I will not remove my bum from the couch after work to do it. So, I do my best to work out 4-6 mornings a week (and have NOTHING to show for it).

Have you ever heard that saying “runner’s high”? I have, and I believe it is some crap about runners getting this endorphin rush, and they feel an emotional (?) high. I’ve never experienced it, but then again, I can’t run around the block. But, every runner I see running on the lakefront has a look of anger/pain/dread on their face as I pass them. So, I’m not really sure about this “runner’s high” thing.

Anyway, Ignacio got home yesterday evening after taking spin class at the gym. For those of you who may not know, spin class is a class in a dark room with loud music where you peddle a stationary bike for an hour. It’s not easy, really, it’s pretty grueling. So after class, Ignacio walks in the door with his iPod on, and he is singing and dancing.

“Nat, I just had the best workout. My endorphins kicked in. I am on one of those ‘highs’”. And he continues to dance and sing and be way too happy, while I am trying to watch my Tivo’d American Idol.

Really? An endorphin high? I can barely drag my bright red, tomato face home after a spin class, and here he is on a ‘high’.

Whatever. Pass me the Hershey’s dark chocolate bar, I need to drown my sorrows because my workouts aren’t making me ‘high’ or my booty any smaller.