Fun Run

POP. The blast from the pistol rang out, and a thin grey cloud floated up over the sea of people wearing matching burnt orange shirts. The crowd of over two thousand began to slowly shuffle from their stand still, trying to find space in the crowd.

I split my earbuds apart and placed an end in each ear. When I hit the play button on my iPhone, Kanye west greeted me with one of my favorite Yeezus tracks, “I’m in it”. By the time the bass kicks in and Assassin’s Caribbean pre-chorus takes over, the pace of my run has matched the tempo of the music. I found an escape route to the left of the crowd, and I could now focus on the task at hand.

This was the second year in a row that I signed up for the Morton Pumpkin Fest Fun Run. It was two miles through town and Elissa’s entire family ran it. I had beat every single one of them pretty handily the year before, so it was a matter of personal pride that I best all of them again.

I was very comfortable with my running tempo. I made sure to stretch my legs out with each stride to maximize distance, and keep my feet on the pavement for as little time as possible. My feet would hit the ground heel first and roll forward until my toes pushed off the ground on the way back up towards the back of my thigh.  I was a machine, and this was what I was built to do.

            The lane on the left side stayed relatively open. For some reason, everyone was crowding to the right side of the running lane. Four songs into the race, and I noticed my breath had gotten heavier. I’m not saying I was breathing harder, it was more like the air that was escaping my lungs had gone up in weight, which meant I had to give a little more effort to get it out. “I’m fine”, I thought to myself. “Four songs in means it’s been over ten minutes. I should be seeing the finish line shortly.

 I focused on the scenery to distract myself from the fatigue that was falling over me. It was very cool, mid fifties at best on this late September morning. I could feel the wind press against my face and tousle my hair as I pushed myself against it. I was running through a residential neighborhood of one-story houses, but I could see the golden brown color of the corn fields ahead of me in the distance. This was a pleasant morning for a run, and the Dear Hunter song that was now playing in my headphones felt like a perfect soundtrack to the morning. I soaked all of it in.

I was getting pretty tired however, and it was getting harder to distract myself from that fact. I had now reached the cornfield I had seen in the distance. The odor of the rotting husks overwhelmed me. I hadn’t run along side a cornfield the year before, so I started to get a little nervous and confused. I had lost track of how many songs I had listened to on my playlist, but I was sure I had long surpassed fifteen minutes. Then I saw the sign that confirmed my suspicions. A white sign with big red bock letters on the side of the road told me I was passing “MILE 3”.

Shit. As I passed the sign, I immediately slowed to a walk. I took a wrong turn. This was not the fun run. It turns out that there was a right turn to be made about a mile and a half back if you were doing the two-mile run. If you continued to go straight, you were following the six-mile track.

The three-mile marker is the absolute worst place I could be, I decided. It’s the same distance to go back as it is to finish this thing. There is nothing I can do, and now I’m not in the town square anymore, I’m out in some desolate farmland where there is no easy escape. I had to get out of there. With that knowledge, I turned up my music and decided that the only thing I could really do is power through it. I started running again, but at a much slower pace than before. Before I was running at a speed suitable for a two mile run, now I was only half way done with a six mile race.

My will to finish kept me inspired for the next mile and a half, but after that my feet got heavier, the impact on the pavement was felt with every step. I was no longer the refined machine I had felt I was a half-hour earlier. Instead, I was an elephant running through the savannah. Each step was hard and straight into the ground, the vibration from the impact resonated through my leg and up to my knee. I continued running, but it no longer felt refreshing to me as it did miles ago.

I make it another mile, and my chest has tightened from all of my heavy panting. Sweat has been running down my face and I can taste the salt on my lips. My pace slows, and now I’m trotting.

Just when I thought all hope was lost, the finish line comes into view, framed by balloons, carnival rides and hords of people. I break for it. My chest hurt, my stomach curdles, I might puke. But in under a minute it will all be over.  I am now sprinting down Main Street, fighting against any and all pain coursing through my veins. As I reach the finish line, I run through it, making sure not to slow down until I am ten yards passed it. I did it.