and the ribbons sat in my desk for years.

Some of you may have already heard that I was recently coerced into running in our city's marathon. No, not the full length (that would require strength, determination, upper-thigh-exposing short-shorts), but as a participant in our staff's relay team. When I was initially recruited, I thought "relay" was the act of running 100 ft. to a pile of strange garments to clothe our team's reluctant volunteer with hilarious garb as quickly as I could. Alas, my colleague's definition of "relay" did not match that of my elementary school's Sports Day. Man I miss Sports Day. Grinning from my bowl of over-sugared cereal it was the one day at school I looked forward to attending. It was silly, it was outside, and it signaled the beginning of scared jittery whispers of "No More Books". I realize now that our teachers (besides the gym teacher who had prepared the madness) just wanted a prep-free day. We just wanted to avoid learning at all costs. "Yes, we'll even wear team colours if we have to," we had said.

Astronauts in zero-gravity, apparently, can feel their hearts beating and bumping in a new spot in their chest cavities.

The actual act of running is probably the most hated thing in North America; even more than Terrorism. I, too, have chortled at the busy-bodies cavorting across streets and down sidewalks wearing their shloshing water bottles and reflector-laced garb. But I have been exposed to their perverse secret. Usually a blood-letting ritual and vow of secrecy would obtain such knowledge. All I needed to do was trot a kilometre, turn around, and slowly walk back to our apartment while avoiding the upheaval of a delicious spaghetti supper. I found the secret the next day when I anticipated the next run; I discovered I was looking forward to it. Strangely enough, I had stumbled, quite literally, onto the phenomenon of "runner's high". With my body so previously depleted of such endorphins, all it needed was a quick jaunt out the door to start pumping out the natural pain killers. I have run a number of times since then, and one could say that I have become quite fond of this peptide hormone. I want its juice. Runners -junkies- have the privilege getting their fix right there out in the open; in public nonetheless. Let's get this straight, no one in their right mind will tell you they run because "it's fun". No way sister, the only way it's possible to witness hordes of runners bobbing and sweating across the city on Sunday morning is because it feels goooooood. And it does.