Runner's High
Like so many of the other firsts in my life, I remember my first "runner's high" as if it were yesterday. By Amby Burfoot From the June 2004 issue of Runner's World
Like so many of the other firsts in my life--first prom, first kiss, first bump-bump in the night, first child--I remember my first "runner's high" as if it were yesterday. It came on a perfect October afternoon while I was running near Clyde's Cider Mill in Old Mystic, Connecticut. A warm sun dappled through the oak leaves, roadside twigs crunched lightly under my feet, and the smell of apple cider vinegar spread sweet and heavy through the air.
For a mile, maybe two, I slipped into another world, a timeless one where there was no effort, no clocks, no yesterday, no tomorrow. I floated along for 15 minutes, aware of nothing, just drifting. Then a big truck thundered past, and the spell was broken. Goodbye runner's high. Hello noxious fumes.
Recently, I added up my lifetime running miles, and found that I'm hovering around 108,000. That distant October turned out to have been my only serious encounter with runner's high. It might have been vivid, but it hasn't happened again. By my math, this means I have experienced the rush on .00185 percent of all my miles. Or, to put it another way, I get high on one out of every 21,600 workouts. Not very impressive.
Researchers aren't batting any higher than I am. They've been chasing runner's high for the last 25 years, and, until very recently, have come up empty handed. In her personal and scientific journey, Ultimate Fitness: The Quest for Truth about Exercise and Health, New York Times science writer Gina Kolata devotes more than 20 pages to the quest for runner's high. In the end, she concludes it's a myth.
Kolata notes that running and runner's high seem linked more by chronological association than by scientific proof. Endorphins, some of the body's natural painkillers, were discovered in 1975. Running took off a few years later. Soon, legions of runners were bumping into each other at weddings and cocktail parties, saying things like: "Who needs drugs? I get an endorphin rush every time I run more than 10 miles."
Of course, talk is cheap. Science demands rigorous proof. And last year, in her book and a Times article, Kolata pretty much buried runner's high forever. She interviewed a number of leading experts, and none of them bought into the runner's high theory. "I believe this endorphin in runners is a total fantasy in the pop culture," said psychobiologist Huda Akil, Ph.D., from the University of Michigan.
The endorphin theory had several problems, the most serious being that endorphins are too large to pass through the blood-brain barrier that border-patrols your gray matter. And if something can't get into your brain, it can't make you high. Too bad. What are we going to talk about at cocktail parties? Turns out the answer could be that 1960s favorite: marijuana.
A year ago, Kolata couldn't have known about the work of a marathoning neuroscientist named Arne Dietrich, Ph.D., now at the University of Beirut. He considers himself more a memory specialist than a brain-chemicals guy, but Dietrich has run six marathons with a best of 2:52, and he had to think about something when he was out there.
From his readings in the field, Dietrich knew about a relatively new brain receptor site, first discovered in 1990. This site was shown to be the receptor for THC, the active ingredient in marijuana that produces another kind of high entirely. The site was named the cannabinoid receptor.
Since the body is an intelligent system that doesn't develop receptors for no reason at all, this meant the new receptor must be home to a natural body chemical--and not just THC, an exogenous, or "outside the body" substance. The natural chemical was discovered in 1992. It's called anandamide, from the Sanskrit word for "bliss." Anandamide is very similar to THC, and it produces pleasant feelings of relaxation and pain cessation similar to those often described by runners and pot smokers.
Could anandamide be the missing link to runner's high, the substance that endorphins were not? On one long run, Dietrich worked out all the details. "I was convinced that I had hit the nail on the head when it came to a biological explanation for runner's high," he says. "Of course, it would take me two years to prove it."
He started by devising a simple experiment with a small group of subjects who ran or bicycled for 40 minutes at 76 percent of their max heart rate, and then had blood samples drawn immediately after exercising. Next the blood samples were flown to a special lab in Irvine, California. The results showed that both the runners and bicyclists had significantly more anandamide in their blood after exercising, with the greatest increase among the runners.
Equally important, as Dietrich already knew, anandamide doesn't have a blood-brain barrier problem, the way endorphins do. If you've got anandamide in your blood, it's going to reach your brain, where the cannabinoid receptor will hungrily grab it and give you a nice buzz. "Anandamide is a tiny little fatty acid that crosses the blood-brain barrier like nobody's business," says Dietrich.
Anandamide does more than just get you high. It also dilates your blood vessels and the bronchial tubes in your lungs. Both of these physical adaptations should help you run better and longer.
This makes perfect sense to Dietrich.
After all, a couple of million years ago, your great, great, great (plus some) grandfather had to jog nine to 10 miles a day across the East African veldt to find enough fruit and meat to avoid starvation. This was hard, exhausting work. And painful at times. Lacking Advil, Granddad no doubt wanted to take a nap under the nearest Banyan tree by 11 a.m. If he had, you wouldn't be here today. You'd be as extinct as the dodo.
But a few Paleolithic hunters apparently developed the ability to produce anandamide, which masked their shinsplints, and these well-adapted folks survived through the brilliance of natural selection. "The whole system makes sense from an evolutionary perspective," notes Dietrich.
A similar interpretation explains why runners get higher than bicyclists, swimmers, and those who simply stroll around the block. Bicyclists and swimmers don't support their own body weight while exercising; walking isn't very intense. In other words, these activities don't produce as much stress as running. No pain, no gain--at least not from anandamide.
So a runner's high doesn't come from endorphins. It comes from a blissful substance that Dietrich believes could help people suffering from chronic pain.
The thing is, I tell Dietrich, I don't get runner's high often enough. I want more. I still remember a certain October workout, because it was, like, groovy. I'd welcome a few repeats. So I ask Dietrich if he can provide a magic formula to improve my .00185 percent. According to Dietrich, you're more likely to experience runner's high when you run just a little slower than your 10-K race pace, also called tempo pace. Slow down more than that, and you don't produce enough stress. Run faster, and you get overwhelmed by the effort.
But at your tempo-run pace, you're in the zone. You probably already know that this is a great pace for boosting your fitness, efficiency, and race potential. Now there's another reason to do tempo training. It can give you a nice buzz, man.
Thanks
