This past Saturday was the annual Charlottesville Ten Miler. I had a friend who planned to run in it, and he got me thinking about whether I'd like to run in it as well. I hadn't run a mile since high school, had zero experience with long distance running, would have virtually no time to train or prepare and didn't even own a pair of running shoes. So, naturally, I decided to participate in the event.
I'm typically an overconfident person when it comes to evaluating my own abilities and limitations. I figured, I'm a healthy 22-year-old male. I did athletics in high school, and I make it to the gym two or three times a week. I figured if a bunch of 50-year-old guys and sorority girls can run 10 miles, I should have no problem, right? Not quite.
I woke up Saturday morning about five or six hours earlier than usual. I ate the breakfast of champions, Lucky Charms, put on my pair of beat-up $15 basketball shoes and headed to U-Hall with my friend. We lined up all the way in the back, eager to pass the 2,500 or so people who stood ahead of us. The gun fired, and I started my journey...
Mile 0.4: Why is everyone going so slowly? These people need to get out of the way for movers and shakers like myself.
Mile 1.3: I've passed hundreds of people. This is great, I could run forever. I'm giving high fives to bystanders and maintaining a steady pace.
Mile 2: Oh boy, here comes the first line of people handing out paper cups full of water. I grab a cup and realize that drinking from a cup while running is harder than it seems. I spill most of the water and wind up choking on the little that makes it into my mouth.
Mile 3.2: Who would have guessed Charlottesville had so many hills...
Mile 4.1: My arms and shoulders are killing me. I didn't realize running could take a toll on your upper body. Now I know why everyone else was stretching their arms before the race.
Mile 5: Here comes another line of people with cups of water. I reach out for one but I can't close my hand to grab it. All the running combined with the chilly temperatures has caused my hands to go completely numb. What is happening to me?
Mile 5.8: My left knee starts to ache. Wasn't that the one I injured playing basketball a few months ago?
Mile 6.8: I'm exhausted, my knee is killing me and I'm starting to wish I were still in bed.
Mile 7.5: That's it -- my body can no longer keep up the pace. I tell my friend, who'd been running by my side up until now, to go on without me.
Mile 8.0: I hate every single bystander telling us to "keep it up." They have no idea what I'm going through. I see someone zoom by on a bike and I've never been more jealous of wheeled transportation in my life.
Mile 8.8: The only thing keeping me from walking or stopping altogether is the embarrassment I'd face from being passed by women who have given birth to three kids or by guys twice my age.
Mile 9.5: Every step my left leg takes is excruciating, but I can't stop now. This will be the longest half-mile of my life.
Mile 9.95: The finish line is directly ahead. To my left, an aging bald man with man boobs out-sprints me.
I did it; I ran 10 miles. My body was in shock, my ego was in ruins and I'd caused potentially serious damage to my left knee, but I finished.
As I write, I am still practically immobilized from the race. After all I went through, do I feel it was worth it? Yes. Time and ice will heal my body, but the memories and experience will stay with me forever. I got a taste for running and came away with valuable lessons regarding long-distance races. With any luck, I'll be back next year ... as overconfident as ever.
Daniel's column usually runs biweekly Tuesdays. He can be reached at mcnally@cavalierdaily.com.
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