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I'm willing to bet you've never accepted the idea that pain can be enjoyed. Perhaps you've mildly entertained the notion, but never truly grasped it's fundamentals.  Well my dear reader,  we have much to discuss.  First,  the kind of pain everyone detests: Say You're out camping, after having just purchased some new gear. You've got yourself an official Marine Combat Bayonet, clad with a double-edged tip; and a long Latin machete, equipped with a brilliant hand-guard(intended to prevent smashing your beloved philangies).  So you find a formidable log, and begin chopping. Just as you start,  your first chop twists the machete clockwise and the edge of your moronic finger-guard pulls back half of your thumbnail, revealing moist flesh and a small stream of blood. The irony hurts worse than the thumbnail. You curse yourself for letting it happen, and rip off the remaining nail to continue chopping. Much too shortly thereafter, you notice the same hand growing sore in one particular area. Upon removing your glove, you discover a blood blister the size of a dime, swelling up just below your pinky.  You've heard that you're not supposed to pop a blood blister, rather let it burst on its own, and then treat it. These are ordinary pains due to ordinary, non life-threatening circumstances, making them nearly insufferable. So you continue chopping and let the blister eventually bleed out. 

Later that night, long after the chore of chopping firewood and tending to your wounds, you find yourself sitting around a campfire, and pick up your marine bayonet, drooling over its razor-sharp double-sided edge. 
Right when you start wondering just how deep it could actually sink into flesh, you realize the reason you purchased this weapon is standing right in front of you... a 450+ pound bear. While small for a bear, it is still large enough to be a huge threat to your safety. Just when you start to wonder why this bear would wander so close to a raging fire, it charges toward you. You see the piercing glow of the fire's reflection painted across the cold black eyes of your attacker. With no time to think,  you push your recently Injured thumb against the cross-gaurd of your bayonet,  and thrust it into the neck of the animal. The bear's warm slippery blood spills out along your hand and wrist, yet you keep your grip firm and hold your blade where it sits; between two halves of the main artery in the creatures neck. As the pain jolts through your thumb and blood drips into your eyes,  you can't help but keep pushing forward.  You cringe through the worsening self-inflicted pain, but continue to hurt the bear worse still. This newfound pain,  this pain accompanied by survival,  it becomes instinctual.  It becomes gratifying.  It becomes a pain you Damn near enjoy,  out of necessity.  
Because the bear bled out.
And you only have a sore thumb.
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