We’ve talked before about the journey of rediscovery I’ve been on this year. For those of you joining late, I entered the year realizing I was nearly 50 and wasn’t happy with any element of life, so I challenged everything and changed much. I’ve lost 60 pounds, gotten into the best shape I’ve been in since college, gone back to school and even taken halting steps towards a normal social life. It’s been interesting to say the least, and along the way I keep learning new things.
Today’s lesson is about sports endorphins. Those of you who are serious athletes certainly know what I’m talking about – those morphine-like compounds your body produces under the stress of exercise. They’re why you find your second wind on a long run, or strangely feel better during the second half of the game than the first, or find yourself unsure why you crave the pain of a good workout – but quite certain that you do. They numb the pain and bring pleasure to the brain, and are closely related to the chemicals your brain releases during orgasm … perhaps explaining why post-workout sex always feels like the whole is greater than the sum of the parts … 
I’ve never been anything close to an athlete, so it was all pretty much a mystery to me until I started this process. I do an hour of aerobic exercise five days a week, and once I’d gotten past the “it hurts all the time” stage, I noticed that a strange thing would happen somewhere around the 40 minute mark. I thought it was just me finding my rhythm, but I know now it was those endorphins kicking in – instead of wishing the walk or ride or whatever was over, I found myself looking for a greater challenge. It had a strange effect on my brain, as well. I’m not the most self-confident guy, and that little voice in my head is usually telling me I can’t do whatever it is I’m considering. But after that 40 minute mark, the voice is medicated into submission and I can see things in a whole new way. I’ve even used it to my advantage, formulating plans in the temporarily-medicated confident state, and learning to trust the plan later after the exercise high worked off.
There’s a downside to that happy little buzz, though, and I’m learning that lesson today. Thursday nights, I walk the Strand in Hermosa Beach, covering about 4 miles in an hour. Last night, my left ankle was bugging me a bit before I set out, reminiscent of the ankle pain I would get when I was much heavier. I knew it wasn’t serious, though, and that if I just got through the first half-hour the endorphins would get me home.
As is happens, I was glad I decided to walk through the pain, because I ran into AVP volleyball players Kerri Walsh and Rachel Wacholder – both new mommies and not on tour this season – walking with their babies near the pier. And sure enough, just after that sighting the drugs kicked in, the pain decreased, and I completed the walk.
And then came the morning. Turns out there’s a good reason for pain, and for listening to it. This morning, my left ankle was nearly twice the size of its counterpart. It’s pissed because I made it walk four miles despite clear warnings that it wasn’t in any shape for it. A little ice and a lot of Advil and things are better, but it’s a lesson well learned.
OK, maybe not so well learned, ‘cuz I still have a 30-mile ride this afternoon … hey, at least the weight will be off of it …
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I don’t know how else to say it that this:
