||[Jun. 30th, 2006|05:55 pm]
|||||QOTSA- Regular John||]|
I have never experienced the so-called "runner's high." The closest I've come is an awareness of the lack of pain while on the run. Not a good sensation, just a normal one. But I like the feeling after running, when my lungs still feel a little strained. Like I've accomplished something.
This land is flat. It would be nice if there were hills around here, but that's the nature of lake country. Hills make running interesting. Growing up in Binghamton, a valley, hill running was all there was. I like it, the variation of kicking it in at the foot of the hill, muscling through the incline and exploding over the top. Even better was running downhill. Most runners slow down on the downslope, even during a race. This never made sense to me. I always leaned forward to the point of almost toppling face first into the gravel. I'd let gravity pull me forward. My arms would windmill for balance, I'd throw a foot out there and hope it found a place to land. It usually did.
It was the same way in the Army. On a roadmarch I'd kick it in on the slopes, whether up or down, then use the flats for a kind of rest area. The flats were for the even pace, the hills were to be conquered. I loved passing people going uphill. It was like saying, "That's all you've got? You're using this as an excuse and I'm using it as motivation. You're letting the terrain beat you. I'm going to beat the terrain and I'm going to beat you."