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The first time it happened, I was 45 minutes into a two-hour run. It was during my sophomore year of college, and I had developed an unparalleled obsession with exercising. I’d wake up every morning to run miles before class. My fanaticism bordered on the unhealthy; I must have spent hundreds of hours on the dirt towpath by my school, running away from the stresses of my young adult life and an array of body issues.

That fateful winter morning, wearing my new pair of black running tights, I quietly and inexplicably began to experience something new. It was a subtle, pleasant sensation at first, then it grew, slowly and steadily. I realized I was about to have an orgasm — an involuntary, unintentional orgasm. As it built, I ran at a steady pace, conflicted by an internal debate: Should I stop and lose it or continue and experience a bizarre public orgasm mid-stride?

Finally, I reached the point of no return. No other runners were in sight, so I shifted my hips, scrunched my face, came, and continued running. It would have been anticlimactic, except that it was one of the best orgasms I had ever had.

Afterward, I remember feeling a mixture of shock and confusion. I think it was akin to the sexual stirrings of adolescence, when I first discovered my body could generate these strange, compelling sensations just within itself. I had never had trouble achieving orgasm intentionally — but I certainly hadn’t been trying for this one. Was this going to happen every time I went running? If so, I was going to dominate road racing.

For a while, I thought my new, extra-insulating Nike tights were responsible for the phenomenon. But even the perfect combination of spandex and fit didn’t totally make sense, because my tights weren’t exactly, well, rubbing anything. Nonetheless, I wondered if I could make millions marketing my running tights as a sex toy, the only orgasm-inducing product to be sold in stores next to Spanx.

Before this experience, I had never been a woman to have endless multiple orgasms or to come from anything other than a sexual act. To be honest, I always thought women like that were exaggerating to make themselves seem hypersexual and alluring. Now I had become that groan-inducing person.

And, in fact, it gets worse: Running was just a gateway. I began having orgasms during different types of exercise and in ever more public arenas. Over time, I climaxed at the gym, in the park, and on the street. When my running addiction shifted to a Pilates craze, I began climaxing while lying on a foam mat, surrounded by strangers. I actually never feel embarrassed and don’t worry about getting caught, mostly because people in exercise classes are fixated on themselves. We only look at others as a benchmark for self-judgment: Does she have better form than me? Why isn’t she getting tired? No one is thinking about the other person’s internal dialogue or wondering, Hmm, what is she feeling? I am thus free to have as many Pilates orgasms as I can. Still, I have to admit the real key to secret exercise orgasms is that your climax face can easily masquerade as an I-am-dying-to-finish-this-set face. It’s really the perfect front.

The absolute best part is that, when I feel that orgasm building, I become superhuman in my workouts because any exercise strain is replaced with that animalistic need to keep going. In Pilates, I exclusively have orgasms during the stomach series. When I feel that rush coming, I can crisscross like a maniac. It really gives me a sense of physical superiority because I am getting a better workout and having an orgasm. Especially when I see that snide girl with the perfect leg extensions — sure, she can easily get up, but I’m getting off.

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