Run On Sentences

Two weeks ago, I ran for both the longest uninterrupted period of time and distance that I ever have in my adult life. Back in the day, I dashed through weekend-long soccer tournaments and hustled for three-hour long tennis matches, but never have I set out upon a long stretch of tree-lined asphalt road and run, without water or rest, for six-some miles.

On Sunday, February 23rd I awoke promptly after five am with a nervous alertness surging through my veins. It was the kind that prevents you from sleeping through your early alarm - with the help of anxious dreams - at the expense of a good night's sleep. I had hot oatmeal drenched in melted brown sugar, and set out on my drive into Los Angeles where I'd convene and then carpool with my partner in crime, Stepha. I drank water, listened to my Firecracker 10K iTunes playlist via Bluetooth, and prepared myself for the feat I was about to attempt. I was confident... anxious, but confident.

The hustle and bustle at the Start line of the race made both Stepha and I super excited. We helped each other with safety pins to attach our race numbers, adjusted and re-adjusted our armbands and headphones... then all of the sudden, 8:30am hit and the race had begun. 

I set out at a mellow pace, intimidated by the number of athletes and brave souls around me. Slowly, I quickened to where I felt comfy but challenged, all the while swerving and dodging to navigate the crowded, narrow asphalt streets of Chinatown, LA. The sun burned down straight onto my fair-skinned forehead, to the point that I was sweating within the first five minutes. Uh-oh, I wondered. Would I make it through with this fleece on?

My favorite Pentatonix and other alternative jams got me going that first mile, first twenty minutes - from Newton Faulkner to Flypside, to name a few. My power-female icons got me through the rough moments, however: Lady Gaga and Edge of Glory, specifically, helped me make it up the toughest inclines, while Queen Be[yonce] and Love on Top were the source of inspiration for my passing the third of the water stations. I was on top.

I was fascinated by the number of soundtracks that must have been silently surrounding me. As I bounced at my own pace to the music in my EarPods, I found myself wondering what the petite, pony-tailed Asian girl and thick-necked former LAFD jogger were listening to right next to me. My imagination kept my brain preoccupied from the pain that had begun pulsing through my calves and glutes: what if we mashed together every workout song currently streaming from the armbands around me to make a club-worthy remix? What if we were the premise and stars of a music video right now? Who would burst into a solo breakdancing stint at any moment?

That first mile, I felt confident and was surfing cloud nine. The second mile was nearly ALL uphill, and I asked myself: did I plan for this? I questioned how much longer I could go on. However, at seemingly impossible points in the curved upward slopes of these back roads surrounding Elysian Park, I beat the odds: I kept jogging. Never did I slow to a walk, despite the burn that had circled toward my shins and despite the neighbors around me who were dropping back like firework edges. Every one of them who slowed, pushed me that much faster. All I did was keep my eyes to my Asics and the gray rock beneath me, knowing that the satisfaction which would come as the road eventually flattened would make that burn have been so worth it.

The third mile played tricks on me: my body and my mind. The uphill didn't stop; instead, it alternated with comfortable slopes down, teasing my weary bones into thinking that we were OHHH... WE'RE HALFWAY THERE. We weren't - not quite. I started to identify more closely with the individuals who were still near me: I latched onto a few recognizable brand-logo'd t-shirts, distinguishable ball caps... there was a cook near me with a blue clown-like wig on, and an older gentleman in a red long sleeve who made me demand of myself: Cory, if he can do this then you sure can. There was an Asian female, seemingly college-age and possibly a former athlete like myself, who was consistently a few strides ahead of me. She pushed me to round those corners a little more tightly on the inside.

The fourth mile was where the easier half distinctly began, even if I hadn't known my progress from my Nike app or the neon orange race flags along the side of our route. I remember looking out and down toward a winding service road ahead of me, and I remember nearly-sprinting downhill as we overlooked Elysian Park and the stadium I grew up going to. Some people stopped to take scenic photos - I couldn't be stopped. The steep asphalt downhill was a relief but also nerve-racking, as I wasn't one hundred percent that my sore shins or weak knees would be able to prevent a tumble were I to lean too far forward. So I gripped the thumb-holes in my new nylon/fleece, grateful for the breeze that cooled my glistening forehead and neck. I wouldn't stop for anyone - not when I was on this much of a roll.

The fifth mile stretched along a long, palm-tree lined street with two empty lanes that were mine for the taking. I distracted myself from the temptation of the final water station by running directly atop the dotted white lines that divided this road's opposing lanes. I was on track to achieve my goal: I was at approximately forty minutes after the first two-thirds of this race and knew that despite the pain my body was now managing, there was no fatigue slowing me down. If anything, the adrenaline I had accrued along with my momentum was pumping harder than ever. I admired the view surrounding my strides: a bright, blue LA sky, shining sun, more room to my sides due to the spacing of the racers, and milestones ahead that drove me to sprint in small spurts. Five miles: forty-eight something minutes.

The final full mile was the one in which my mind began pondering what I might write about this experience could I be multi-tasking in that very moment. I remember that I considered analogies for the pain I was experiencing: while it had began as a burning fire creeping along my extremities, following me like the hot sun over my head, it had shifted within to become a bright-blue burn from within, one inside of my bones like that inside a log that is deep within a campfire. Slowly, the combination of these two pains began to make me wonder whether muscle could tear away from ones feet bones, shin bones; then, it dawned on me that this might be a symptom of what are called "shin splints." Finally, I realized that I wasn't even breathing as hard as one might suppose; I was purely focused on keeping my knees lifting, my arms pumping, and my eyes looking toward my finish line.

After an Olympic-like turn around the final bend before the home stretch, I pumped my fist at the sound of my Nike app's robotic voice: Six miles completed. 56 minutes and 30 seconds. Average pace: nine minutes, 30 seconds per mile. I had done it, nearly ON THE DOT! I had picked up the pace when I needed to make up for my warm-up miles and averaged out the exact pace which I always felt proud of when lapping my friends' houses in the neighborhood of Newbury Park. All that was left was, what, point-two miles? How far was that, really? When the Finish line and so-named banner came into view, I knew I had to set out to beat the fit, black stud to my right and toe-shoed hippie with her hair down to my left. It took all I had left to sprint that last bit. I didn't waste time checking the race clock or even pausing my Nike app before I surged over the white chalk line, bent my head to be crowned [with my race medal], and then pulled the blue fleece over my head to reveal my arm-banded iPhone and pause my "run."

Could it be? Did I really, just NOT beat my aspiring time? I didn't mishear the app, or mis-read: it had taken me 1:00:04 to complete everything I just described. Had I not had a fleece on, or had I bypassed the medal for a few microscopic moments, the clock might have stopped right under an hour. But I did it. It was an hour after that fateful start -- one which began with a crowd and quite a few trotters, I might add -- and I had completed a stint of 6.2 uninterrupted miles.

I couldn't have done it without the companionship of my aforementioned partner in crime, Stepha!

The perfectly-distanced, accompanied solitude I enjoyed on that fateful Sunday one fortnight ago was unlike any other independent feat I have ever attempted, let alone achieved. The discipline and belief and perseverance one can tap into within an HOUR were truly amazing, if not anticlimactic, to endure and then realize a few minutes after finishing the race. I took a few additional minutes alone to catch my breath, to take in the air and ambiance around me, and to treat myself to complimentary orange slices and water bottles courtesy of the race volunteer staff. I also called my Dad to rave about my accomplishment. Check out my trophy -- I mean, medal! 

After completing this reflection and seeing my yoga-, beach- and rest-filled day off today come to an end, I know now that my two weeks of restful recovery since the race have come to an end, as well. My sore ankle is healed, as is one of my most deeply embedded fears - that of failure. I did it! Bucket list item: completed. I feel like I can do anything.

To running on, and to run-on sentences!