Takeaway: Every ‘woke’ person knows the medical benefits of Marijuana… but who knew it could be beneficial even during working out? People talk about their experiences when weed helped them focus. This quality of weed can help you concentrate better when you exercise. You can try this out when you feel that working out has become boring! Read the below personal experience to get a better insight into this phenomenon!
My college friend— with his frowned eyebrows, smirky face, and specs rightly slanted towards the fluffy cheeks— would always come up with two crucial phrases “don’t drink and derive” and “do inhale to integrate.”
That sounded overwhelmingly weird, considering alcohol and weed have always been viewed with contempt.
However, that wouldn’t stop him from explaining that alcohol and weed are similar and different at the same time.
“Like alcohol, weed makes monotonous work interesting. Contrary to alcohol, weed helps to focus.”
While there was no scientific fact backing his statements, we’d keep ourselves enraptured to experiment with his ideas— primarily because we dreaded calculus.
We wanted to get over the biting maths.
And if it only took a few grams of cannabis-candy to focus on it, I would go on to motivate myself for giving it a try.
For me, it was like— getting a natural remedy, rather than associating or labeling it as a criminal act.
Anyway, I was from California.
Being an updated citizen regarding the weed laws— I knew that I am complying with the regulations, and there’s no harm in consuming it.
That’s when I found myself tonking pipes and sucking candies before everything which needed my physical and mental attention.
And so I ended up dragging pot before math classes or tuning up my guitar.
The most noticeable outcome of pulling the pot came in the work-out sessions.
I had developed a bad habit of snorting marijuana in the car chiefly because I feared getting intruded upon by my parents who, when finding their son living his bon vivant life, would definitely impose their non-smoking philosophies.
And once in haste, I snorted more than 5 grams of marijuana, 60 minutes before my work-out slot.
I usually park my car 3 kilometers away from the gym to avoid the monotonous treadmill drill, but I run short of breath every 300-500 meters.
With multiple stops and water-sipping sessions, I roughly take 35 minutes to cover the distance.
But that day, the screeching sound of my shoes wouldn’t stop as it continued to hug the road till I would make a mark that “yes, I can do.”
My brain, which typically starts keeping track of distance covered and the distance left to be covered would do nothing of that sort.
Instead, it didn’t permit me to think about what’s done and what’s to be done.
It sent a resilient signal to the body which helped me hit the legs on the track like a heavy object being thrown with a thud.
The urge to taste gallons of water after every couple of hundred meters had suddenly disappeared.
And I went on to run like Forrest Gump with slating long insignia of Morse code on the road.
While my head and hands bisected the euphoric breeze, my body embraced it with pride.
Pride because the resistive force couldn’t alter my mind, and I kept on toiling.
As the salty sweat runs through my body, each drop hung over my forehead like icicles waiting to be dropped with a sudden jerk.
As soon as I switched on my gear to the maximum potential, the drops fell off on the ground— each hinting about the heights of motivation which the pot induced.
I ultimately hit the gym 15 minutes prior to my usual routine, and without a doubt— I was far more focused, the body was working blazing fast, and I couldn’t rate further exercises as mere drags— instead, they were more intuitive and enthusiastic.
I began stretching my muscles, and by that time— the effect of the grass had already soiled up in the body.
And I looked so prepared as if people around would assume the predator is ready to pounce on its prey.
After going like a bat out of hell for 30 minutes on the road, I hit the multifunctional exercise bike to challenge my real stamina.
Everything in the gym seemed fascinating.
Even the cruel machines looked like child’s play.
I could literally imagine these machines shouting “run for life, this guy ain’t leaving us for another hour.”
When I peeped into the mirror, I could see my body radiating the human energy field.
The message was clear— my body wanted to live up to its aura today— which generally went missing on the other days.
This exercise resembled something which I had done years ago— something which I did without being a crybaby.
I remember how I peddled for hours to get a sneak of boring chemistry classes precisely after I finished my schools’ chores.
Though both the exercises looked the same, they had differences— the differences which drove me to travel the extra-miles during school days.
Peddling at least had a destination, whereas exercising bike had no reward like meeting friends, or eating palatable stuff after tuitions.
Moreover, it felt boring to cruise like an idiot and ending up at the same destination with the machine.
But with my chest out and vision light falling exactly on the mirror up front, I peddled like a quacky-duck in the air.
Even though the machine cycle robs off the novelty delight because of repetitive operation, I pulled the plug of my energy engine after a brilliant and vehement quacking (I mean peddling) session of 45 minutes.
That was one hell of a journey in the light of the fact that I had already run like a brainless buffoon.
I wouldn’t care how sweaty I looked, how pumped I sounded, I was happy that I had more energy in the tank to give it another shot.
To people around, I looked like a man having grey stubble and white-pigmented horse’s hair; but deep down— I felt young, brash, and cocky— as arrogant as it may sound— but it felt great.
To my surprise, I had also found the destination while riding the machine, which time and again, I failed to discover in the last eight months.
My destination was to live for the immediate moment rather than thinking and fearing about the next 45 minutes.
Sixty minutes into the gym, and I still felt alive and energetic— as if I’d work out for an entire week today.
Oddly pumped up, I went onto challenge my biceps for the next half an hour.
With hard gasping and indomitable attitude, I would let the nerves of my biceps shape out and meet at Cubital fossa like tributaries.
That looked strangely beautiful and gave me a sign of manly pride.
I would go for long repetition until my muscles felt stiff, and nerves felt ripped up.
And the process continued for back muscles.
I could never imagine myself pulling my entire body with exquisite smoothness for more than 15 times in a single go.
Those back curves escalated exactly like Mona Lisa’s smiling muscles had already made my day.
Smoking weed played as a motivating force, which, in turn, effectuated my dull work out sessions.
Finally, my body was vibrating because of fatigued muscles and intense sweat-bearing training.
It was time to stop, so I yanked my phone and booked the taxi to my car.
I further drove to my apartment and hugged the plushy-bouncy bed.
When I woke up after a few minutes, I realized that I haven’t slept with such contentment in ages.
Apart from smoking weed and working out, some researchers also emphasize the fact that weed intake suppresses lactic acid production, thereby limiting the post work-out pain.
My journey has been excellent and worth every sweat, and you can add this too to find if it works the same way.
However, before launching an act, make sure that you know your local marijuana rules, and every dose is taken under supervision.
Working out high was not my decision; I was given a choice to try, and when nothing seemed to work my way— I started trying to balance the see-saw.
With marijuana placed at one end and exercises on the other, my body has lived up to the hype of working out while high— although the effect may vary among different body types.
So, have you ever got into your gym stoned? How did weed interact with your work-out session?