54

It was hotter than hell last night. I kid you not. I looked up Hell on the weather channel. Beelzebub and the crew were experiencing spring like conditions in comparison.

I had no goal other than getting through the run alive. I didn't care about speed, pace, tempo anything except finishing the 10 miler. I started running with, P, D, V and S.

About 6 seconds into the run I realized I needed to pee.

About 1 minute later realised that our slow pace would not get me to the washrooms fast enough.

So I picked up the pace and left the group to take care of business. Now why is it when you really, really, really, legs crossed need to go, are there 5 people ahead of you in line.

When I finally emerged, my group had passed and were out of sight. My shirt was sticking to me. It felt like I had poured a bottle of water over my head and soaked my shirt ... except I hadn't. It was all sweat. 2 miles. Only 2 miles and I was drenched.

I could see my group ahead. I caught up with them, but my pace was a little faster so I just kept going. I felt great until just before the turnaround at mile 5. Then I started thinking that I had gone out too fast for a night like this.

I start thinking ... then I start believing ... then I panic.

I was averaging around or just under a 10 minute mile. Must slow down. Going to die. I'll run to the next water fountain, then I can walk forever. When I get to the water fountain a couple faster runners are there. Okay, I can't let them see me walking. I'll run until they pass me, then I'll walk forever. I kept looking behind me. Where the hell are these people. There supposed to be fast. If they really are fast they should of caught me, by now. When they finally did, I glance behind me, and more runners where coming. So I couldn't stop.

Somewhere around mile 7. The heat hit me, the humidity zapped the last bit of energy from me and a wave of nausea swept over me. I came to a grinding halt. I started walking, well more like a shuffling stroll. I felt like crap. I just kept walking. I justified it in my head. If I kept walking, Ps group would catch up to me and I could run with them. After about 3 minutes of walking a couple runner came past and asked if I was okay.

I said yes.

Of course it was a polite, don't worry about me, I'm fine, but really I am dying, yes.

My legs didn't get the memo. They thought I actually was okay.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Now I am going to run. I don't want to but my legs have started running.

I want to puke. I am going to stop. Yeah who cares. Not me. I'll stop if I want to. Then just as I'm about to stop a runner pulls along beside me and asks "how many days is this?" oh, uhm ... "54, today is 54" . He says really nice things that make me forget I want to puke. As he runs on ahead, I know I could stop now, I could walk, no one would know. But I can't cause of the stupid nice things he said.

Surprisingly, the last mile felt pretty good. What felt even better. Being done.

Now today is even hotter, even more humid. I am calling in reinforcements to get through tonights run.