Boy I have never heard it described quite that well. I now have PTSD and I have not run a competitive track event in 25+ years!
I enjoyed the competition and excitement when I was 20, but track would be hard to do professionally. The practices and meets were brutal and painful. Always. Whoever made up the term "runners high" is a goddamn liar. It just hurt.
At least with football and basketball you have to do hard conditioning, yes, but then you get to play a fun game. Track? Not so much.
Yep, what's weird is I am not sure I ever really liked running. Yet I ran cross country and track all through college. By about junior year of high school, it had become a year round sport for me. Lots of miles.
I think the reason I couldn't quit was the love of competing as a team. Plus cross country and track kids are usually pretty fun guys (I know, I am biased). Competitors, but also quirky and fun. Nobody who was "normal" would choose to run that much.
I'm suddenly reminded of one of my favorite stories. During college, we realized one of our main rivals filled their steeplechase pit with water the night before the meet. It had a cover, but it wasn't locked. So a few of us middle distance runners went fishing in the river that ran close to the track the night before. We ended up snagging a couple big carp, like 10-15 pounders, and dumped them in the steeplechase pit under the cover of darkness.
The carp were discovered the next morning, and at some point, the opposing head coach, a maintenance guy, and an equipment room guy were trying to stab/flush the fish out with various instruments.
Either later that spring or the next season (can't recall), we decided to pull the same thing on our coach before a big home meet. Except for this time, we ended up with a handful of walleye and some white bass. That steeplechase pit was like a real aquarium.
It was either that time or the next, that our coach went right up to me and blurted "Goddamn it, now you are putting game fish in there?! I'm calling the goddamn game warden on you next time you pull this shit."
Me and a couple of my teammates always denied it, tongue in cheek, but everyone, including our coach, knew we were the big fishermen on the team. 25 years later, I still deny it when I see him.
By my senior year, he started making sure there was no water in the steeplechase pit until the morning of the meet. So we'd find a hose and fill it up that night anyway. Then he started locking the cover of it, too. By then, I think we had about graduated.