Saturday morning I voluntarily got out of bed at 5 AM to go for a run. “Go for a run.” HA! Ha ha. That sounds so innocent. So sweet! If it had a nose I’d pinch it and then rub it on its head while gushing WHO’S THE CUTEST LITTLE GUY WHO?
My training regimen said I had to run 13 miles. Pretty much a half marathon. And since that would take over two hours (THE HELL?) to complete I had to get a head start so that I didn’t get caught in the heat. So I strapped on all my gear, so much of it that I might as well have been headed to the moon, and slipped out of the house into the pitch black of the morning. How fucking poetic is that?
Finding a path in this town that doesn’t involve giant hills is pretty much impossible, and Saturday morning was no different. I hit a steep patch at mile seven, so I slowed to a walk and took advantage of that moment to eat a goo. Do you know what those are? Goos? They are pretty much what comes out of Satan’s ass when he empties his bowels.
No, no. You’re a runner who has found a goo that’s really tasty and you want me to know about it. No. The chocolate one, right? I tried that one. Satan poop.
I downed that awful goo at mile seven, took a giant swig of water, and turned around. All I had to do was make it back to the house. All I had to do. SO CUTE!
At mile nine I turned my body off. I didn’t want to listen to it anymore because I had to hear every second of the four miles ahead of me. And then at mile ten I realized my fatal error: in order to get back to the house I’d have to run three miles straight uphill. DAMMIT, UTAH. You and your gorgeous scenery.
There was no way I was going to make it if I had to do those miles on such an incline, so I decided I’d end the run a few blocks away from my house and then walk home. I kept zig-zagging up a block, down a block, through an alley, up another block, down through a park, the mileage rolling over in slow motion: 12.5 miles, 12.6 miles, 12.7 miles, 12.7 miles, 12.7 miles… OH COME ON.
After several more blocks the GPS told me I’d gone 13.18 miles. Half marathon complete. But when I stopped running my legs almost collapsed. My body switched on, and oh, the pain. Lightning and glass shooting up though my ankles into my butt. When I looked around to see where I was I realized I had to walk a half a mile home. Uphill. And that was the longest, most excruciating half mile I have ever walked. I know, the Mormon Pioneers are not impressed.
You runners are total nutballs.