It’s early afternoon in the fading heat wave of August: Boy, this feels good. This high of mine can’t be inhaled, sniffed or swallowed. As I make my way north on Dufferin, I make eyes at strangers walking past me and they can see it in my stride: I’m buoyant. Uplifted. Sexy. (And other synonyms that describe a woman in a good mood.) I know they want to be on whatever I’m on, but I’m not willing to share it. I’m selfish right now. I don’t want to give it away. I can’t believe there was no cash involved. Not even an e-transfer. No shady dealer necessary. Why didn’t anyone tell me about this runner’s high earlier? It’s something else.
My high did not cross the boarders of Canada illegally. It was not cooked in a kitchen or sun dried in a tobacco field in Turkey. It’s pure. The way sex feels pure at its filthiest. And right now, I’m feeling it. It’s warm and gooey in my joints. My sweat is gleaming on my face – sticking on my back like an extra layer of creamy icing.
Even my thoughts feel clean. Less rattled by the emails. Less stubborn from the excuses, explanations, reasoning and doubt. I’m fresh-faced – vibrant in my casual athleticism. I’m no athlete, but I’m here right now and I’m doing this for me. It’s a nice remedy to my weekend debauchery. After a day of screw ups, running gives me a big slap in the face. Give it to me – I want it to hurt.
Before I go any further, I need to make something very clear: The only reason I work out is because I’m pissed off. To me, working out feels like I’m punching people in the face while simultaneously saying “fuck you” to knob heads I can’t shout at. I don’t know anything about cross-fit, I regularly confuse push ups with pull ups, and for a while, I felt very passionate about jumping jacks. If I could do 50 jumping jacks for every 10 emails I sent, I would be a much happier person. But I can’t really. So I’ve found alternative measures to vent my pent up frustrations without relying too heavily on poutine and joints.
Step 1: Finding the ultimate-casual-non-offensive-black running shorts
Before I found my runner’s high, I went on an impromptu shopping trip to find running shorts – plain black, nothing fancy, nothing too short, just normal running shorts. Let me tell you: THEY DON’T EXIST. Apparently, the only types of shorts available are the ones that barely cover ass cheeks. Running in a thong is not appealing to me, no way – too invasive, too high up my butt. If my butt was looking to get high, I’d buy my ass some “cool” running shorts. But that’s not what I came here to do. And then I couldn’t find the right colour. Everywhere I looked, I was assaulted by neon. The last thing I want to do is buy a $55 pair of bright neon, pink, spandex shorts. What happened to simple white, black and grey shorts? I almost gave up.
Then. I spotted the absolute perfect pair of shorts. Hidden in an abandoned corner of Sport Check (where mannequins go to die), I found a beautiful pair of running shorts: plain black at a length that made me feel okay about neglecting my bikini line. I left the store feeling like a very confident basic bitch with a pair of very average black shorts.
Step 2: Purchasing sexy runners (with arch support, obvi)
I knew I might have some trouble finding the right running shoes. Full disclosure, I can’t handle running in fugly sneakers, so I tried my best to find a pair that felt comfortable, stylish and sort of sexy. Very important. But as I came to discover, finding a pair of simple-stylish-black-and-white running shoes was impossibly hard. Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by running shoes with neon splotches. WHAT IS UP WITH THE NEON PEOPLE? I understand that a certain level of colour or reflective apparel is important for safety. But really, come on. I refuse to buy into this neon shit. It’s just not necessary. I’m putting my foot down. NO!
After looking in four sneaker stores, I settled on a flat pair of Nikes. Not ideal, because there’s literally zero arch support. But who am I kidding? I’m not about to run a marathon. I’m new to this. I’m a “casual” runner. A part-time athlete. A beginner. I’ll take it slow. So I went with the Nike Free 5.0 and made my way home with my sexy beginner runner’s outfit. (I also got dry fit running socks that feel really silky and professional. Fleek. No stink.)
Step 3: Okay, what do I do now?
If there are any runners out there, I’ve got a few questions: What do you do with your house keys while you’re running? Stuff them in your bra? It feels sort of weird and cold next to my nipple to be honest. And what about the iPod? I feel kind of dumb running around while gripping my iPod that auto-shuffles while I’m flailing my arms everywhere. Is everyone wearing an inverted fanny pack I don’t know about? Please share.
Let me tell you about the first run: It was sweaty – like sex, but with no penetration. I sweat in places I didn’t even know I could sweat. Like my “Ugoblah.” (That’s a skin pore I just made up!) My face melted, in a good way that left my mascara in-tact. My heartbeat raced like a horse on a 90s VHS cover. And I felt my rib cage in a way that felt oddly glamorous. My skin felt transparent. I turned into a woman with zero fucks given and it was sort of beautiful. Like a butterfly transforming into a world body weight champion covered in PAM. Okay, now I’m getting carried away. But it was really electric. My feet felt like they were full of electricity and the stress in my shoulders turned into liquid.
Just for a moment I didn’t care about the deadlines. The emails. The debt. The credit cards. The asshole. The idiot. The jerk. The bitch. I didn’t feel like the naïve girl with the training wheels anymore. I felt like Olivia Chow at brunch. I was Whoopi Goldberg on a cruise ship. Tyra Banks in the season finale of ANTM (cycle one). Untouchable. Alive. Alert. High as a kite. Happy. Sensational. Perky? Maybe even horny. I don’t know – it was like a bunch of feelings that all felt really nice and cool tbh.
Everyone should try running, like once.
Tired of getting acid reflux from wine? Feeling bloated after beer? Repulsed by chemicals on the weekdays? Then I truly, from the bottom of my heart, recommend that you try running. It’s pretty good. Like really good! And the best part? There’s no nasty comedown. No hangover whatsoever. It’s 100% natural, organic and raw. I apologize if this article read like a forced infomercial with a “real actor,” I’m just really excited about running, okay?