Waiting for that Elusive High

I try to exercise. Even try to do so regularly. For years now I have been stepping foot on our treadmill every now and again to attempt to make my self feel better at times or escape the stress of parenting small children via song. I don't watch television while on the treadmill or read a juicy novel...I sing. I shove in my i-pod earbuds, crank the wheel up loud and sing my heart out. Don't care who is listening. Don't care if I am off tune. Don't care if I am making up words that aren't really in the song. I sing to survive the 20 minutes.

I go through phases with what I listen to. Passed through a big "Grey's Anatomy" phase for awhile, tapped my feet to Jason Mraz and skipped along to the banjo strumming of the Dixie Chicks. My huge collection of mix cassette tapes is resting on a shelf because I can't part with the items that got me through the hard times of my sketchy exercising past. Of course now I have moved on to playlists created by my charming musically inclined husband. If it was up to me I would still be caring around my giant sony CD man.

What I am wondering is when I will love it? When will I feel the "runner's high" that I have heard about for so many years? Though I don't really consider myself a runner. Oftentimes the treadmill "calories burned" section will only read an amount comparable to consuming a miniature twix or milky way. I end the session with headband hair and many times scratching my arms wildly because I seem to get hives upon occasion. (Allergic to exercise?? perhaps)

I will continue to attempt to develop some sort of routine. Not sure if I will succeed. Sitting on the chair reading a good book and sipping afternoon tea is such a lovely way to spend my 45 minutes without children between Will's nap and the screech of the school bus tires. I vow to keep on keeping on. Seeking the exercise buzz. I'll keep you posted.