The Worst Run of My Life

Many people might read this title and think “every run is the worst run of my life”. Runners might read this title and be able to recount a handful of runs that would qualify. But I’m a little different. You see, I’ve never really had a “bad” run. I’ve had runs that were harder than others, ones that I wished were over mere minutes after they started, and ones that weren’t as fast as I had hoped, but this isn’t a story about runs that were almost “the worst run of my life”. 

This Sunday’s long run was a 11 miler. Nothing I hadn’t done before, hell, I PR’d my half marathon time this year by SEVENTEEN minutes. 11 miles had nothin’ on me. Eager to beat the heat, I packed a cooler of Gatorade, chocolate milk, and ice cold water bottles and hit the highway to my glory loop of never ending pavement at a park just outside the city. 

The first three miles were golden. Slightly downhill with the wind at my back, I had time to admire the changing leaves of the trees in the almost-autumn sun, and the strange number of dead frogs laying on their backs on the shoulder of the road. 

The four mile mark is my favorite. Deciduous trees turn into coniferous, and open fields disappear as the forest narrows in on the road, as if to give it a big hug and anticipation builds towards the East Gate Hill.  For a prairie dweller, it’s somewhat of a mountainous trek to reach the top, and it’s also an incline I credit in morphing me into a runner that crushed a 17 minute half marathon PR a few months back. 

I can never remember where mile 6 is. Is it the turnoff to the ranch, the road to the group use area, or that large boulder in the field with the pointy edge? Normally I wouldn’t be so concerned, but mile 6 meant I was one mile from where I started, which meant I only had to run there, then run another 2 miles and then turn around and run two miles back. It’s like the run was almost over, right? Yeah, it was one of those runs. There was no denying, wherever mile 6 ended up being, I could barely fathom that I was just over half way done. Smoky skies with cool winds turned into stale hot air, suffocating every breath. “You’re not tired! Your mind fails far before your body will! Come on, you’ve PR’d on every single race this year” I tried to convince myself that I was feelin’ good, but the truth is, I really wanted the run to be over. 

Past mile 7 where my parked car was filled with icy chocolate milk dreams, I reminded myself that another 2 miles to the turnaround would come faster than I thought. On my first loop around, I mentally mapped out where the 2 mile turnaround should be. Just past the marsh area where the water looks fresh enough to drink, just past the “something” in the field that looks like a bear, and right where a tall tree stands alone, majestic against the vast prairie field behind it. That’s where I’d turn around. I have never felt more like walking during a run than in this moment. If only walking didn’t mean it would take more time to reach the end, if only walking didn’t demoralize my running ego. I didn’t hurt, I wasn’t out of breath, I was just DONE. Except I wasn’t. There was still a mile and a half to go. Uphill. 

My mind was out of motivation. My body was out of motion. I closed my eyes and ran hoping that maybe it was a dream, and that when I opened them I’d be at my car chasing my long run with a swig of lemon ice Gatorade. My eye’s opened and I was only 50 meters ahead. I closed my eyes again, and felt every step, every jolt of the concrete radiate through my entire body, I felt the angry sun on my face, the failing determination in my mind, and the hopeless optimism that I would turn the corner to see the end. And like a gift from the Sunday Long Run gods, I got a sign. Literally. The sign to the turnoff to the parking lot. DONE. This time for real. 

The chocolate milk felt like luxury, the lemon ice Gatorade tasted like what I imagine Windex to taste like. And, defeated and exhausted, I fell into the sweet sweet reclined seat of my Civic in an attempt to un-remember the last 10.5 miles of “The Worst Run of My Life”.