Saturday, March 3, 2012

Running Long and Surviving

I went long this morning by myself. I started around 11am. It was uneventful. I was hungry about 45 minutes in, then again 45 minutes later. 15 miles isn't very long but the last two miles were a little uncomfortable as I hadn't run longer than 13 yet this year. However, I came across this description of a long run while reading the internet and wanted to share it. I hope I don't get in trouble for stealing it, but I'm not going to cite it either.

Long runs are hard.  That's something we can all say.  Every now and then you get a long run that tests WHO YOU TRULY ARE and WHAT YOU ARE ALL ABOUT.  Today I had such an experience. 
Have you ever been to HELL?  I have, and I have FOUGHT THE DEVIL MYSELF AND WON.  It began when I awoke this morning and dropped a messy dump into the toilet.  I tried to do it quietly so as not to wake my wife, but the stench foiled my plan.  She gagged and complained that I should use the guest bathroom.  I refused to comply, BECAUSE I AM A REBEL AND REFUSE TO COMPLY WITH THE DEMON COMPELLING HER TO SAY SUCH THINGS.  I beat my chest, smashed myself in the face with a cast-iron skillet repeatedly until I had broken my nose and given myself a black eye, and drove to the TRAIL FROM HELL to begin TORTURING MY BODY AND SOUL
Please understand, the run I was about to do was not for every runner.  This run would strip the average runner to his core and force him to beg for mercy.  But of course, this run was hard because I DESIGNED IT MYSELF.   
The task?  A leisurely 20 mile run at a controlled heart rate for the first eleven miles, with the last nine miles at a ONE HUNDRED SIXTY BEATS PER MINUTE HEART RATE.  Imagine having someonePOUNDING ON YOUR CHEST WITH A HAMMER 160 TIMES PER MINUTE AND YOU KNOW ONLY HALF OF WHAT I WENT THROUGH.  To help myself get through the workout, I tried to only think about the run one mile at a time.  One mile down?  Easy.  Two miles?  Piece of cake.  But after four miles, it started to hurt. 
My clothes were slightly wet from the slight drizzle.  The hat I was wearing was slightly impairing my view of the sky.  Sometimes when I said hello to other people, they didn't wave back.  I screamed out "NOOOOOO PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!"  Sometimes to get more attention I would punch myself in the face, or smash sticks I found on the ground against my testicles.  This caused me to vomit, and eventually, to dry-heave. 
After the run was over, I collapsed in a heap in the front seat of my car, and when I took a sip of my Powerade, I found out that IT WAS NOT THE PERFECT TEMPERATURE FOR ME.  The slightly warm temperature reminded me how close I had come to the heat of the fires of hell that day, and how I HAD SURVIVED.

Tomorrow I'm going to run a 5k since I won't be in town for the next Grand Prix race on March 11. I don't know how I'll do or how much I care. Onwards and upwards.

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