Running some 800s and 400s today, I ended up with that ol' lactate feeling. It had been a while-- at least a couple of years, I think. It may sound really strange, but I love it. It is an absolutely visceral reminder that you are working hard. Very hard. Plus, I can walk around with my hands on my hips when I'm done with the final, hard 400, pretending I'm Mary Decker Slaney in the days of 'yore (just without the fall... or the drama afterwards).
A woman who was walking around the track while I was living my fantasy, (but really getting ready to puke up a lung) commented, "Don't kill yourself."
Guess I'm not a dead ringer for Ms. Decker Slaney.