My Real Life Proof That "Endorphins Make You Happy"

Hey internet people! As you probably recall, I had the unfortunate experience of slamming my foot so hard into the door frame that it turned a lovely shade of purple-red and was very, very painful to walk on. What you might not have realized is that most forms of exercise that I have been employing throughout the summer to raise my self esteem and get healthier require the ability to use not one but BOTH of my feet. And so, for nearly a week, I’ve been idly doing crunches and lifting weights but feeling all along the painful reality–I was not able to do my yoga or go on my runs.

Now, over that past week I began to notice something–I was in an INCREASINGLY bad mood. Day by day, I felt more and more like crying. So, unless I’m actually a psycho, like a former classmate of mine suggested to the guy she’d been friend-zoned by for years (who happened to be my latest misguided relationship endeavor) there might be a correlation here, other than the usual hormonal horrors.

I’ve probably mentioned before that yoga REALLY helps manage the anger and misanthropy related to working a generally unsatisfying job in which I’m forced to deal with the general public (who, generally, kind of suck). Well, the fact that I was beginning a regular jogging routine apparently added a lot more to my self esteem than I gave it credit for. I was DOING something, finally, to improve myself. To not only lose weight and get healthier, but to gain the ability to actually RUN a 5k. RUN It. Not hobble it.

And then, circumstances beyond my control (unless you count deciding to dance-walk out of the bathroom and cause myself to run into the door frame as something under my control) prevented me from continuing this regimen without more pain than I was willing to withstand. I cried during this time. More frequently than is usual during the week before my “visitor” arrives. I nearly cried today because the markdown machine I was using didn’t work, as if this was somehow yet another great failure of mine.

So, my very scientific hypothesis from all of this is that, like Elle Woods memorably states in Legally Blonde (yes, I went there) “Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t kill their husbands.” And while I have no husband to murder and don’t spend enough time with my wonderful boyfriend to possibly be angry with him (even if I was, I’m not the murdering type) I’ve definitely been significantly LESS cheerful over the past week without being able to run around pitifully or do yoga. And it has sucked. I look forward to lacing up my gym shoes and taking off on no longer bruised feet, the wind rippling through my ponytail but neglecting to allow me to breathe properly.


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