ADRENALINE . . .

Is a very powerful drug. Thank God it occurs naturally in our bodies; I can't imagine the abuse it would endure otherwise.

Yesterday, I received some very excellent news, and it got my heart pumping. I became light-headed, shaky, short-of-breath and more excited and scared/thrilled than I had been in a mighty long time. The woman who had resolved to take the evening off and relax suddenly felt a desperate need to RUN. So, I changed into some serious workout clothes (no simple sweatpants yesterday, thank you very much), hopped on the treadmill, pushed up the incline, pumped up the speed, and RAN and RAN and RAN. In fact, I ran so much, I ran a full mile -- four laps, in a row, without stopping or resting. Now, I know this will not sound like a big deal to you who actually run for pleasure (crazies), or who run those insane 6-minute miles (I timed an only-slightly-pathetic 12:30 minutes), or who are just generally in better shape than I. But you have to remember that I have not had to run a continuous mile since the required state-wide 9th grade physical fitness test. That was -- ahem -- 14 years ago.

And THEN, because I was still OD-ing on the surge of adrenaline, I decided I'd do some push-ups. Let me just say that I have NEVER done a real push-up. Not a single one. Not when I was a flexible 7-year-old tomboy; not for the dumb 9th-grade physical fitness test. And before you get all excited for me, I didn't do any real push-ups yesterday either. Even the fake ones, done with the knees bent -- I can only manage about 6 of those at a time. Yesterday, I did TWENTY. Another small but significant victory for my physical health. The day I do ONE REAL PUSH-UP is the day I buy everyone I know a round of drinks. Don't hold your breath.

So, of course, this morning, I'm in absolute pain, dulled only a wee bit by the residual adrenaline still coursing through my body. Later on, I'll have to take some Motrin to take over where the adrenaline leaves off. This evening, I might have to imbibe a little wine to ease the tightness of all the damn muscles in my body. This weekend, I might have to get a deep tissue massage to alleviate the aches that just won't go away. In a few years, I might have to have physical therapy to fix the damage done by those 20 fake push-ups. But for now, I relish the pain like my first bite of hamburger after Lent. YUM.