Dear Endorphins

Today was Rex Lee Run "race day" (I snicker at that phrase like I do at "training"), where I ran the 10K.

Of course there were your average Provo Zoobies (guys checking the FP of their girlfriends/fiances/wives),

those manorexic, anemic-looking cross-country-for-life'ers who have thighs the size of my arms,

and a small but noteworthy percentage of cool-looking girls and guys (too bad we were all jamming too intently to our iPods to chat).

Then circa mile 4.3 there was a girl running solo like me who turned and we exchanged sweet runner nothings along the lines of "You're doing great"...
sweetheart.

I would say the hardest part was looping back around with the 5K-ers at the end because many were walking and my legs were begging to do the same.

However, the Fray's "You Found Me"came on and I can honestly say I sprinted the last 0.2 mile for a finish time of 1 hour, 1 minute and 25 seconds.

Not bad for someone who used to detest running, and STILL DOESN'T GET RUNNER'S HIGH.
And so, with my new runner entitlement, I pen an open letter to endorphins, who have yet to come out of my mind's hibernation (extinction?):


Dear Endorphins,

As Bob in What About Bob said -
"I'm doing the work, I'm babystepping, I'm not a slacker!" -
I TOO am putting in some pavement time.
And mind you, my steps are not babysteps as I'm just shy of 6 feet tall.
So needless to say, it's ABOUT TIME you showed up.
"Gimme, gimme, I need, I need,"

Alex