The Worst Long Run Ever: a play-by-play brought to you by Honey Stinger Ginsting Gels

The best thing about this week’s long run was that I didn’t poop all over myself.

Until you’re this guy, it could always get worse.

If anyone actually wants to participate after reading this, there’s a giveaway (!!!) of the remaining Honey Stinger gels in my pantry!! Atlanta area readers only (I don’t want to bother with shipping), ideally willing to meet me in the midtown Trader Joe’s parking lot. Sponsored by yours truly.

The giveaway loot.

I went on vacation last week, ran just 9 miles during the whole trip, and was dreading even my 14 mile cutback long run. I lost my Garmin charger, so I was only wearing a watch. The trail I was running has intermittent mile markers. Here’s a recap of how it went.

0.3 miles: Only 0.3 miles?!? Ugh. 1.1 miles until I’m 10% finished.

0.8 miles: getting out of breath. Should really slow down.

1.1 miles: damn it, need to slow more. Is that possible? Am I even running?

1.6 miles: (self-bargaining) ok, we’ll skip the marathon-pace finish. Just log the miles. The Garmin isn’t even on so you won’t know how slow you are!

2.2 miles: (sweating profusely) How am I already this drenched? Banana before the run was not enough. 

2.4 miles: no energy; took my usual Gu with water. It helped a bit.

3.2 miles: (devil on left shoulder) you could turn around and call it a day at 6.4 miles. // (angel on right shoulder) stop being a [cruder word for wimp], you think it’s going to feel better than this at mile 21 of the marathon?

side note: I think the little guys on my shoulders are both devils in their own right.

3.2-3.5 miles: much anticipation of getting to 25% complete.

3.6 miles: whoever said you don’t lose fitness in a week never studied anyone with my natural lack of athletic talent.

3.9 miles: this is how I normally feel at the end of a long run. Oh well, 3.1 miles until 50%!

4.0 miles: dang it, that’s 10 miles total before I’m done. I hate you, math.

4.8 miles: I feel like I’ve never run before in my life. No, I feel like one of those newborn baby giraffes who has these long legs and no idea how to use them. Wait, I have short legs. I wonder how newborn baby dachshunds do with their legs…

This little guy seems to know how to use his legs.

4.1-7.0 miles, many times: do you wanna get back in the swing of long runs now, or wait until next weekend’s 17 miler? Easy answer? Yeah, I thought so.

6.2 miles: I am certain I passed mile marker 5 an hour ago.

6.5 miles: well, turning around now won’t make much difference except making me feel like a loser over running one less mile. Carry on.

7.0 miles: HALFWAY!!!!!

7.1 miles: need another Gu. Oh shit, I packed one of these gross honey gels that made my throat itch one time. Guess it’s better than nothing.

7.2-7.3 miles: uncontrollable itch in throat, coughing, loogies, occasional dry heave. I almost cry. Crying over a shitty training run is dumb. No one will die or even lose a dime if I don’t run a successful marathon. I chide myself for being so self-involved.

7.4 miles: vomit of the sickest imaginable sweet honey-water/stomach acid mixture. There is so much sugar and water in the vomit that it doesn’t even burn.

7.5 miles: I become angry, because even vomiting didn’t soothe the awful itch in my throat. Uncontrollable coughing and dry heaving continue. I begin to stop frequently and walk in between stops.

7.8 miles: I may not get home by dinner time at this rate. Begin slow jog.

8.0 miles: ok, who can I text to come pick me up? Decide against asking Jeff to leave work and drive 45 minutes each way. It shouldn’t take me any longer than that to walk.

8.1-8.2 miles: Text a friend and make dinner plans for later in the week. Begin run/walk intervals based on no plan other than when I receive a text message. Continue intermittent coughing/dry heaving.

8.4 miles: I don’t think this dry heaving is ever going to stop. I wish Uber served this area. Maybe I should call a cab company. I’ll check the Uber app just in case. OMG!!! There is an Uber 10 minutes away!! If I run nonstop to the next intersection, I will permit myself an Uber!

8.4-9.1 miles: where the hell is the next intersection?? Can I walk? Please? A chicken sandwich sounds good. If I don’t stop running I will have a chicken sandwich.

9.3 miles: I sit at the intersection and wait for Uber, realizing I’m covered in a disgusting variety of bodily fluids ranging from sweat to vomit. Quick, clean up, people will think you have Ebola. I hope the Uber driver has leather seats. Bicycle cop pulls up, I tell him about my bad gel experience, thankfully he was a Marine and knows a little something about running and vomiting. He offers to call the fire department to check me out. I decline.

10 minutes later: Uber driver arrives. He has leather seats! I feel sick towards the end of the ride and puke on my running board as soon as I get to my car. Oh well, I needed a car wash anyway.

14 minutes after that: more puke on running board, in the drive thru line. you’re welcome, car behind me.

2 minutes later: HOLY CHICKEN SANDWICH AND LARGE SODA WATER. I’m going to be ok.

All right, let me know if you’re local and actually want to participate in my “giveaway” of extra honey stinger gels 🙂  

Also, if you want to share your own awful long run story, I’d love to hear it!