By Jerry Farmer
Copyright 2003 Jerry Farmer
Published at Smashwords
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I was just hitting the zone. My mind had finally drifted into that endorphin mode that masks all the pain of running—and changes every step from excruciating agony to exhilarating glory. I wish there was an easier way. Or maybe I don’t. If someone ever figures out how to manufacture endorphins in pill form the last vestiges of American fitness will disappear over the horizon quicker than a remote control beam from a couch potato. Running had come to be my release in the last couple of years, and as I shifted and turned through the forest trail, alert for each toe-stubbing root and potentially ankle-twisting pothole, I could feel the stress seeping out of my veins like the pink stuff from a thawing piece of meat.