Runners "low"

Tying my shoes ($$) for my morning run, I think about quitting, I wish it were done. Perhaps if I run at least a mile each way, I won’t have to cry at what the scales say. My breath comes in gasps, I look a freight, The people I pass must laugh at my plight. I would love to feel the wind in my face, To do that though, I’d have to pick up the pace. A few strides taken, my back starts to ache, My joints are stiff, damn, give me a break. Where is the euphoria I’m supposed to feel? The “runners high” they say is part of the deal. It never gets easier, a form of torture each time… But hearing “way to go grandma!” is really sublime.