18 miles down!

It's 7pm on a Monday night, and without my ol' roomie, Shelly, life on the home front just isn't very exciting. I have a new roomie who is much less exciting and not some one I'd like to hang out with on a regular basis. Lucky for me, he took off somewhere. So I decided I would write about my very long run that I did yesterday.

I'm sure most of you are aware that due to the shame and embarrassment of learning that several "Biggest Losers" and Oprah beat my only marathon time, I've decided to do another to redeem myself. This one shot at redemption will occur in the vicinity of Eureka (not Yreka this time) in the Redwood forest of Humboldt county. It's supposed to be the most scenic run in the country. I do 4 runs per week: 2 "short" runs, 1 medium run and 1 long run. Right now my short runs are 6 miles, the mediums are 9 or 10 and the long run yesterday was 18. Yes, 18 miles. On foot.

Two weeks ago, up in the northern part of the Redwoods, I ran 16 miles, and it wasn't that bad. Apparently weather and altitude can really affect my morale on a run.

I checked the weather (as every great adventurist does) on 3 different websites and had a 4 hour window before it should get too cold to be out in the elements. It was supposed to stay in the 40's throughout my run. I put on a pair of capris, a sleeveless shirt, a windbreaker and fuzzy gloves... along with head phones that have the external ear sets to keep my ears warm...kinda.

I parked my jeep at the station and ran into some guys at work who wondered what the heck I was doing out there. I told them I was going for a run. Maybe I should have told them where I was going, how long I was expected to be gone, and at what time to send out a search party. That occured to me much later.

I took off along the scenic highway that runs through the valley. Around mile 5 I got pretty warm with the sun beating down on me and me flying down the road at a good cruising pace, so I took off my jacket. That is, until I got chilled 2 miles down the road. I had been watching storm clouds move closer to me (or me to them, who could tell?) and prayed they stay off in the distance. To be totally honest, it didn't look promising. Let me explain storms up here. I'm not talking about a little bit of rain and perhaps some thunder. I'm talking about snow, and windchills and hailstones the size of marbles and wind speeds over 40mph. We're talking bears are hibernating, there's no squirrel in sight, the cows are hunkering down and even the snow bunnies are packing up and going home. No joke.

At around mile 7.5 it occured to me the magnitude of what I had set out to do. 18 miles along a lonely road, exposed to the severist of elements, dressed for a frolic in the autumn leaves- and it hit me. I was not normal. There was something seriously wrong with my brain and the way it reasoned. Who just goes out in the middle of winter to run (on foot) 18 miles? Not normal people, that's who. I brushed off the thought. I was going to be amazing, extraordinary. I was going to run 18 miles with barely a flinch.

I hit 9 and turned around. The sky was just as dark ahead of me as it was behind me. The winter storm clouds were converging on my exact location like a SWAT team on a drug bust. Nevermind though, because I was halfway and now moving with the wind... until mile 10. Funny how the wind shifts every time I turn around so that I have to run into it. I figured it wouldn't be long until the guys back at the station realized that with the storm moving in, and my jeep still parked at the station, I must be in serious trouble and they'd better come looking for me. Little did I know they had gone to another station after lunch and really didn't care about my whereabouts.

At mile 12 I started heading back uphill, still into the wind. Clouds and slushy rain drops had come and gone with no serious consequences. As I rounded the corner I was hit in the face with small pieces of hail. I stopped to tie the drawstrings on the hood of my extremely thin jacket, and apparently stopped my GPS watch as well. As I struggled up the mountainside I looked down at my watch: mile 13.49. I knew at mile 15.5 the rest of the way back to the station would be downhill, piece of cake. The wind whipped me around and stung my face. I could feel my arms chill under my jacket and my legs had long since frozen over. The hill was getting steep and exhausting. I started yelling at myself in my head. How stupid I was to be out there in this weather, so far away from safety (not really, cars passed by every minute or so). How weak I was for having such a hard time with this run. Why hadn't I prepared for the weather better? Why was I making myself do a marathon in the first place? Did I really have that much to prove? What on earth was my problem?! Was I going to live through this? What if the engine did come get me? Should I be a wimp and accept the ride back to the warmth and safety of the station? Could my pride accept that? No, probably not.

I looked down at my watch again: mile 13.49. Geeze the miles were creeping by slowly. I stopped to walk a little. I could no longer force myself to jog up the hill. I was weak, I was pathetic, I was tired, cold and hungry. Whose great idea was it to not bring Gu (basically sugar gel for energy) this time? Nice. Just great.

I looked at my watch: mile 13.49. I stopped. What on earth? I looked at the stopwatch section of the screen. It wasn't moving. Good lord, when I had stopped to get more bundled up I had stopped the watch. Now no one was ever going to believe I ran that far. Oh well, screw them. I jogged a little more, then had such a feeling of despair wash over me that I had to walk again. Now I had no idea how far I was until I got back to the downhill part. The weather was getting worse and incredibly cold. I considered hitch hiking back. Instead I swallowed my pride, tucked my gloved hands inside the sleeves of my jacket, ditched my water bottle behind a tree (don't worry, I drove back for it later) and jogged until I could see the top of the hill. Salvation waited on the other side...kinda.

I hit the top of the hill, was blasted head on by 30 degree, 40mph winds, but proceeded to glide down the hill back to the station. 2.5 miles to go. A guy passing by in a pick-up truck with a firefighter sticker on the back window stuck his thumb up as encouragement for me being out in this ridiculous mess for no apparent reason other than for exercise. I tried to get my hands out of my jacket sleeve to wave back but only managed a finger or two (who could tell at that point, they were numb). He stuck is thumb out again with more fervor. I felt terrible. It most likely appeared that I had flipped him off, being as I was only able to get one or two fingers out of my jacket in time. Oops. I tried to wave friendly-like but who knows how it all came across.

I finally made it to the station and hobbled to my car. There was no one out and about, no hound dogs sniffing my belongings in my car, no engines starting up to come find me. No one even noticed.

I got in my car, blasted the heater and drove out to where I ditched my water bottle. My hips ached as I got out to get it. I got home, shoveled as much food into my mouth as I could and got in a long hot bath. When I got out I ate some more and took 3 ibuprofens. An hour later I ate more and considered taking some of my leftover vicodin. I decided against it and finished off all the chocolate that was in the house.

Today one of the captains mentioned he saw me running. I scolded him for not picking me up and saving me, after all I could have died. He said I had ear muff type head phones on so he figured I was ok. Great. I work with a bunch of heroes.