Day 605: Endurance

Awake.
Rubbing my eyes.
The 4AM alarm is blaring.
I am sleeping on this couch, far away from home, but I am home. 
I see my dog sitting at the den door watching me.
Does she ever sleep?
Snooze.
It feels like 3 seconds.
The snooze alarm goes off jarring me from my half-awake state.
I. Am. Awake.

Must move quickly.
No time to dawdle.
Upstairs, teeth brushed, face washed, bright lights.
Clothes changed, socks on, ankle taped, shoe laces tied.
Hair band. Pony tail. Bullet-proof sunglasses... on. top. of. my. head.
I look in the mirror.
I don't see the usual awkward off-kilter girl.
I see a runner.
I. Am. Prepared.

The morning air is cold.
Fall morning cold.
I struggle and vacillate between wanting my long-sleeve and not.
I go with wanting it, though a 1/2 mile later I am too hot and it comes back off.
My legs beg me to stop though its been only a few blocks.
I focus on my breath and ignore the whiners.
Though, I do not want to run.
I had 3 hours sleep.
I. Am. Tired.

It is dark; a humid dark blue hangs about in the sky.
The sun has not yet begun to show its face.
It hides behind the horizon.
I need a light to see the ground ahead of me.
Thank God for company.
My town has changed.
There is a food store where a movie theatre used to be.
They say change is good.
All I see is 'For Sale' signs in windows.
My town is changing.
I. Am. Moving. On.

Small streaks of light are beginning to cut through the blue.
They turn the sky into a series of upside down waves.
Each wave is unique, varying in color.
Deep ocean blue. Hazel and Indigo. Soft ballet slipper pink. Dim pale orange.
And the sun softly whispering through the multicolor clouds.
I breathe softly as I watch this sunrise.
Sunrises like this do not fill me with caution or foreboding.
They give me a sense of peace with the world around me on my morning run.
I. Am. Sun. Rise.

The pavement lingers on in front of me like the ocean in front of a sailor.
I see nothing but the miles ahead racking up as an trudge forward.
The uneasy pit of my stomach lurches.
My body is already aching.
My hip tightens with every step, like I am reeling in a fishing line.
I can sense the inevitable destruction cascading down my legs.
It sounds worse than it actually feels.
My body whines like this when it doesn't want to push anymore.
I tell myself to suck it up, we have a long way to go.
The whining stops... for now.
I. Am. Sore.

The sun now has moved higher into the sky.
Lighting the clouds in a new way.
The white light runs through the wispy yellow two-tone masses like birthday streamers.
I stop for a minute to take a picture. 
And eat some snacks.
I almost instantly start feeling better.
Food = Energy.
Why is this such a "duh!" moment, and yet happens every time I run?
I always forget what I know.
I. Am. The. Light. Running. Through. The. Clouds.

I am still talking.
I talk and talk and talk and talk until I run out of road.
We are following the beginning of the Century Ride route.
I watch the ground for the markings.
They look like a skydivers' closing pin on their chute.
I am reminded of skydiving, and love.
Knitting hat after hat in my fuzzy slippers on those frigid mornings.
Sitting in the back of your truck eating Nutella sandwiches.
You were so happy doing what you love.
I was happy watching you.
I miss you.
I. Am. Drifting.

We are turning on Carleton Ave.
My brain turns Carleton to Carlsburg to Yalsberg cheese.
And marinates on that thought. And again, Timberpoint Rd.
Follow the path that leads to the park.
This hours long run is a 20-30 minute drive.
What am I doing?
Why am I running for this... SQUIRREL!?!
My waining faith in running is tabled. 
A discussion commences on my love of squirrels.
At least I am distracted.
I. Am. Suburbia.

Where is the ****ing ******n park?
I promised myself that I could eat my PB&J once we reached the park.
All I can think about is jelly.
My brain dances around upstairs with a PB&J sandwich.
Stop hallucinating about jelly.
One. Foot. In. Front. Of. The. Other.
We are talking about cycling across America.
I am imagining running along a road in Kansas that never ends.
Or one in Montana with the mountains always seeming to loom just far enough off.
That indefiniteness is how I feel now.
Never-ending.
I. Am. Distance.

We are suddenly at the pedestrian entrance to the park.
Nothing more than an opening between two metal fences.
Cyclists whiz by and say hello.
My dinosaur hand attempts a sloppy wave.
I look at my hands.
Pinched up into completely different positions.
Every time I see a runner on the street I look at their hands.
Are they a dinosaur or just a regular running person?
I guess all runners have their quirks.
I. Am. A. Dinosaur.

I am moving through the wooded portion of the park now.
I am wishing the trail was not paved, but no such luck.
It may be that since I grew up in suburbia, I expect woods to be scary.
I expect the wind to whisper through the trees, like in Robin Hood.
I anticipate the whine of branches and the sun not to shine.
But I am greeted by a complete and utter lack of hair-raising sensations.
There is even a quaint little bench off the side of the path.
It is quiet here, but not as quiet at the mountains the weekend before.
It isn't the kind of silence that rings in your ears.
I. Am. Stillness. In. Motion.

Time to eat.
My PB&J is exactly as delicious as I imagined it.
But my stomach has started it's own history-making worthy Rebellion.
Fluids aren't sitting well.
Solids aren't sitting well.
Maybe I should eat grass?
Please stop with your antics.
Grapes are okay, so a handful or two of those go down.
I stretch for a minute and we're on our way.
I. Am. Processing.

The turn around isn't long after our pit stop.
I am at 11 miles.
I count my mileage on whatever the double is.
If I've gone 5 so far, I've actually gone 10 miles,
Because I have to run that 5 back to.
Since I'm at 11, I am also at 22.
It's just the whole 11 more miles thing.
Put your head down.
Gut it out.
I. Am. Moving. Forward.

I am fading.
Details become fuzzy as emails come in on my phone.
I am responding while running.
"Watch out for that parked car!"
I never was graceful.
The decision is made that I must eat every 3 miles.
Starve off the glaze that comes over my tired eyes.
The sinking into my lower back.
The asleep while running position.
My spine is slouching into a sideways V.
I. Am. Struggling.

The road back is always shorter than the road out.
I think about Robert Frost's poem about paths in a wood.
Did he think about the path back?
The one where you don't pay attention to the mossy underbelly of the forest.
The moments you don't hear the whispers of the wind.
The straight forward, fastest route, tracing your steps back way?
I spend 60% of my run complaining, and 40% thinking.
When I start thinking, I stop jabbering.
This is a warning sign that my energy level is dropping rapidly.
I am offered Gatorade.
I. Am. Quiet.

My mind is entranced in the thought of home.
Icing my hip muscles, my back, my knees, and my feet.
I imagine what stopping will feel like.
A protein shake and maybe some fruit.
Home is equal to paradise right now.
I decide that I will run my last mile as fast as possible.
It will be good training for race day.
But mostly I just want to get home faster.
I. Am. Finishing.

I am back on familiar ground.
But the sun is out now.
It spent the last two hours hiding behind clouds.
Over heating.
We pass a lawn sprinkler and I dip my head and neck into the line of fire.
The cool water runs over my scalp and into my ears.
I close my eyes.
Only 2 miles left.
Just be strong.
I stand back up, my wet hair soaking the back of my shirt thoroughly.
It's time to go now.
I. Am. Coming. Home.

Almost there.
I can taste victory.
The last mile.
All the pain.
All the hurt.
All the work.
This moment is my proving ground.
I will not give up.
I will not falter.
I will not fail.
I. Am. Dedicated.

My breath is heavy.
My legs are like lead.
But my pace is consistent and fast.
An 8:35min/mile pace.
I see the light at the end of the tunnel.
21.7, 21.8, 21.9......
22 miles!
I want to throw up.
I am seeing spots.
But my run isn't over.
I'm still .2 miles from home.
I false jog it out.
Everything hurts.
But I made it.
I accomplished my goal.
And I am smiling.
I. Am. An. Endurance. Runner.

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