High

You know, I am truly envious of these people at the gym who run on the treadmill and they look like they are enjoying it. There's even some sort of peace in their faces which is almost beatific, this look, as if they are in some sort of high, or they are in some otherworldly plane, or they've just given their ex gonorrhea. I wish I could have that.

The only time I even come close to this kind of feeling is when I am eating an Otis Spunkmeyer double chocolate chip muffin and bag of potato chips. The marijuana helps just a teensy weensy bit too.

But on the treadmill, I am all blood and lungs. My head's detached from the rest of my body, my arms are dead branches, my legs are unruly children in the backseat whining, "are we there yet?"

I have to fight through every second as if it's a world war. It bugs me that after two months of running thirty minutes on the treadmill every day, I still can't seem to get that 'high.'

I feel like if I don't, I will never be able to keep this up and Otis Spunkmeyer will settle permanently on my ass...

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Tribes - My observations of the denizens of the gym.