Endorphin Addict

Well you tried it just for once, found it all right for kicks.
but now you found out that it’s a habit that sticks.
And you’re an orgasm addict.
You’re an orgasm addict.

I used to have this song by the Buzzcocks on my ipod, but it has strangely disappeared. Or maybe it was on the ipod that I lost. In any case, it was fast and funny and great for listening to while sprinting on the treadmill. The results of sprinting produced not orgasms per se, but something rather like them: endorphin rushes. Am I some kind of freak or do other bodies flood with endorphins on such a regular basis? This week I was overwhelmed by endorphins while doing legs with my fabulous new trainer. Ass to ankles on the hack squat machine; I say bring it! I was disoriented by elation after every set. I had already been filled with a pulsating pleasure the day before, running up those long, steep stairs that fitness junkies around here love so much. And then, after the chiropractor snapped and cracked me, giving me a firm back and neck massage, I could barely walk home. Once again, I was dizzily enjoying the endos. It probably helps that I am falling in love with her too. I am equally devoted to my hair stylist, a beautiful young woman who gave me an amazing head massage while washing my hair this weekend, filling me once again with the endorphin buzz.

Hi Everyone. This is my first meeting. My name is Feminist Figure Girl and I am an Endorphin Addict.

Endorphin rushes are not as good as sex, but deserve their reputation as ‘body orgasms.’ If I had to pursue this comparison–and really, how can I resist–I would explain it in this way: an endorphin high is not like those short, explosive orgasms that you get at first. They are more like those longer, pulsating waves that come later. They engulf the entire body but do not overtake it. They do not make you surrender utterly and almost black out. But they do stay in the body for a long time after the activity that summoned them has ended and you are resting.

I pity those who do not have the endo experience while working out. I imagine that they are bitterly twisted and hate going to the gym. Or maybe they just give up on fitness, and happily eat nachos while watching Despicable Me at the Imax. So fluffy!

I wonder if anyone has ever tried to isolate or produce endorphins, selling them on the black market. That way you could store them in your refrigerator, and inject them into your gut every morning. What a great idea. Don’t steal it. I have probably just made myself a target for endorphin harvest, like when they took that guy’s kidneys on Law and Order. I think it was the British version in which male attractiveness is equated with numerous facial warts. My drained and newly exercise-hating body will be found in a back alley. And then that Adama guy will figure out who did it before getting the crap beat out of him by Starbuck. Sorry, that was my fantasy ending.


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About feministfiguregirl

I am a 51-year-old professor named Lianne McTavish who receives as much satisfaction from working out at the gym as from publishing my academic research. About eight years ago, I decided to combine my two primary identities (scholar/gym rat) to create "Feminist Figure Girl," a fictional character who both analyzes and participates in bodybuilding. I competed in my first figure show in June of 2011, and then wrote a book inspired by the process, published by SUNY Press in February 2015. In this blog I will write about and consider my ongoing research on the body, while regularly making fun of myself. I recommend that you start reading my first post from August 2010 (available on the home page), instead of backwards from the most recent one, in order to get the full FFG effect.

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