After four happy hour India Pale Ales and an entire $5 pizza, a two block dead sprint to catch your bus doesn't sound all that appealing. Then again, waiting 30 minutes in the freezing cold for the next bus kind of sucks too. Tonight, I opted for the running route.
Very few things in life motivate me enough to sprint toward: Stacks of money about to be lit on fire and Jessica Alba stripping sit atop my short list. A public bus with a gizz, vomit and garbage motif wouldn't normally be a front-runner. But tonight it was.
It's difficult to explain the sensation that comes with heaving and wheezing for twenty minutes straight following only 15 seconds of intense physical exertion. On that bus tonight, I became light-headed and saw "spots" while hunched over panting and staring at my shoes. You really have to experience something like this to understand it. Some call it being "out-of-shape." Others would dub it "pathetic." I call it something else entirely.
"Runner's high" is considered mythical by skeptics. Those naysayers clearly haven't experienced the euphoria that accompanies intense bouts of exercise. And maybe they never will.
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