Shoe: Topo Flylite
Distance: 40 miles
****
My alarm clock pierces the still morning air, apparently declaring a state of emergency. I leap out of bed to shut it off before it can wake the neighbors. It’s that loud. And it’s also early to (what most would consider) an obscene degree.
I crawl back in bed and set an alarm on my phone. I’m still tired. I give myself another hour and a half to sleep, hoping that will chase away this grogginess. But then I remember why the alarm went off so early. Today is my long run.
I planned everything out the evening prior: I filled my water bottle and hydration pack, prepared some food and energy supplements, got my clothes and shoes ready to go, and set my pre-workout energizer on the desk next to my bed. All I have to do this morning is get dressed, pack up, and not go back to sleep.
The lazy little demon in the back of my mind sparks up a debate.
“Why not just go back to sleep. You’ve got the whole day off. Plenty of time for as long a run as you want.”
He’s got a point, I think to myself, I have all the time in the world. Why is it so important that I leave so early?
“Exactly. All the time in the world. Just set that alarm and let’s have a nice nap.”
I can feel my eyelids lowering. He’s winning. And I want him to win. Damn, I want that sleep. I want it more than just about anything at this moment.
As I slip slowly into temptation, I realize something else. I wanted to leave before the sun appeared. I wanted to watch the world change as I ran. Sleeping any more will cancel that ambition. Before I can change my mind, I throw the covers off and hop to it.
****
I’m sluggish this morning. Prepping for departure takes longer than it should. Nevertheless, I eventually step out my door, geared up and ready for an adventure. I don’t have any specific plans about where, or even how far, I should go. The only plan is to be open to whatever the run has for me. The only mission is to obey whatever my whim and whimsy dictate.
Muscle memory gets me started. I set out on my regular route. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover a gentle rain kissing the thirsty earth. It’s been too dry for too long. I smile as the droplets of water make contact with my skin.
The air is cool and damp. Streetlights perforate the darkness that otherwise blankets Tacoma. The city still sleeps. There’s very little sign of life anywhere. I run down 6th Ave as the lone survivor of an unknown apocalypse until few cars pass at random intervals. I guess I’m not such a lone survivor after all.
With M83’s tunes to keep me company, I take stock of my pace. If this run is to be what I hope, my pace will be of utmost importance. And I’m terrible at pacing. I’ve been asked, “What’s your training pace?” The most honest answer to that question would be, “Training pace? What?” I mean, really, I just run. I don’t usually think too much about how fast I’m going if I’m feeling good.
That laissez faire approach will not cut it this time. I have to go slow. Real slow. Painfully slow. If I don’t, I’ll be coming home early.
I keep my feet turning over at the usual cadence, but shorten my stride considerably. It feels ridiculous, like I may as well be walking, but I’ll thank myself later. I know I will.
Just over a mile into the run, I come to Wright Park. A thought occurs to me: I should run a loop around the park. Doing so would add a mile to my run and get me nowhere. Perfect. I cross the street and run one lap. I’m getting warmed up now. Who needs sleep? This is far more enjoyable.
I continue along and soon find myself on the waterfront. All roads seem to lead me here. I run this place often. It’s such a pleasant area. And it’s flat. (Very flat. An added bonus.) The sun is just beginning to remind the world she exists. Her fingerprints can be seen betwixt the gaps in the clouds on the horizon.
Spurred on by the promise of light, a playful attitude descends upon me. I swing toward the piers to get a better view of the mounting glow. They reach out into Puget Sound and, while some are more extensive than others, they all offer a better vantage of the rising sun, which is behind me if I stay on the sidewalk.
****
The sun climbs; the miles pass. I say hello to the regulars. Running at this time of morning with any consistency of direction guarantees you’ll see the same people each time. It’s a boost to the moral. People up this early of their own volition are more open and cheery than most anyone else I encounter on a given run.
As I hit something like mile seven, it happens: laughter. When the runner’s high is in full force, I often get struck with unprovoked, and unashamed, bouts of laughter. I feel good. So good, a simple smile just won’t fucking cut it. No one is around to hear me, but if there were, they’d have to wonder what sort of hilarious mischief I’m getting up to.
The laughter ends after a few moments, but leaves its mark. The tone is set. This run will be nothing less than pure joy.
“Remember this feeling in ten miles,” I tell myself.
My excitement grows. I feel the anticipation in my chest. I feel in my bones that this run is going to be something special. I don’t know exactly what that means yet, but I’ll find out soon enough.
Or not all that soon, really. I mean, nothing about this run will be “soon” by any traditional interpretation of the word. I’m hoping to go further than I’ve ever gone. I start to believe it will happen. I wasn’t confident before, but my surety increases with every step.
****
I find a state of flow. Several miles have passed beneath me and I’ve reached Point Defiance. I’m running along Owen Beach now. The park is closed to motorists at this early hour and, as such, it’s almost entirely deserted. I don’t see another soul as I run out to the end of the path.
Returning from Owen Beach, I pass by a few people taking advantage of the park’s early morning emptiness. We exchange a pleasant greeting and then I take a turn to climb some stairs. It’s time to enter the heart of the park: the trails.
As soon as my foot first lands on the dirt, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is home. I dream of running in the mountains, but Point Defiance will do for now.
I spend about ten miles on the trails. First I complete a full loop and then I wander. I take every turn that ignites my curiosity. I follow every impulse for exploration. For the first time since I left my apartment, sunlight breaks up the clouds. The lovely, grey world gives way to a new and vibrant colorscape.
The green of the mossy trees, the varying shades of dirt on the trail, the golden sun reflecting in the water as it drips from the branches, the blue of the sky swirling together with the gray and white clouds, it’s all too beautiful for words. So instead of speaking, I laugh.
I tend to experience runner’s high in waves. It’s usually bubbling beneath the surface so sometimes it simply takes visual stimuli to bring it to the forefront. I wonder how I look to the casual observer. I wonder if it’s amusing or unnerving to see me charging through the woods, laughing at nothing in particular. I’m sure it’s amusing. I’m sure I look fun crazy.
I don’t really care either way, though. This is pure bliss. And while my time in Point Defiance is the longest portion of the run thus far, it feels as though no time has passed at all. I’m at mile twenty and it feels like mile five. I’m just getting started.
“Remember this feeling in ten miles,” I say again.
****
I exit the park. Regrettably, it’s time to return to pavement. I carry on, making my way to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge as aimlessly as possible. I take a turn down an unfamiliar street. I don’t believe I’ve been here before. It looks entirely new to me.
As I get further along, however, I realize where this street goes. It’s taking me back to Point Defiance. What’s more, I have been here before. I drove through this area on an exploratory mission when I first moved to Tacoma. I recognize it now.
Well, as much as I would love to spend the rest of the day in the park, the trails aren’t that extensive. It’s time to make more of an effort to get to the bridge. I change course and a few miles pass before the bridge comes into view.
I glide down the hill toward the bridge and start singing along to the music in my ears. The sun is fully exposed now, but the chill in the air keeps me cool. The wind is at my back as I cross the bridge. I know that won’t be the case on the return journey.
I pass up a fellow runner and say hello as I do. Everyone is my friend today. She smiles and returns my greeting. I quickly put some distance between the two of us and reach the far side of the Narrows.
The bridge is well trafficked by vehicles of all kinds and, as a result, is unpleasantly loud. Not long after completing the crossing, I turn away from the multilane highway and enter a serene world of nice houses and spendy cars, a world populated mostly by trees and people who, I assume, have a lot of money. I’ve been here a few times. If you follow a couple semi-rural roadways, there is beach access.
The further I get from the highway, the better I feel. Meandering down to the shore, I reach the rocky sand at the water’s edge. I’m delighted to discover only a few people have beat me to it. I run over the rocks along the beach, wondering if it’s wise to tempt fate like this. My feet and ankles navigate the slippery and ever-changing surfaces with skill that comes only from consistent repetition. I can almost hear their concern. “Please, be careful,” they implore.
Touching the concrete base of the bridge, I turn around. Time to head back. I don’t need to risk my lower extremities anymore than I already have. They whisper their thanks, never taking their focus off the task at hand (or foot, as the case may be).
****
On my way back from the beach, I notice a road I’ve not taken before. This time, I know for sure I haven’t been here. It looks quiet and peaceful and subsequently piques my interest. I adjust course accordingly and explore.
At mile thirty-one, I achieve peak euphoria. I’ve not been happier in two years. Probably longer. The ecstasy prompts me to take a photo mid run. I want to capture this moment.
I’m not normally one for photographs. I tend to prefer the experience to the memory. But at the same time, I really need this picture. I need to remember this exact moment. I’ll need the reminder in the future. I’ll need it whenever I forget what happiness feels like.
“Remember this feeling in ten miles,” I repeat once more. And I snap the photo.
****
The rest of the run passes mostly uneventfully. I stop at my place of employment to refill my water bottle. I say hi to a coworker and then it’s on to the home stretch. I’ve run almost thirty-eight miles. It will be forty by the time I get back to my apartment.
When I set out, I’d hoped for the longest run of my life. I didn’t think I’d feel this good. I wasn’t sure I’d make it. I can’t believe there was a moment I thought of going back to sleep. The run would never have gone this well if I had. I’ve bested my prior longest run by eight miles and feel like I could run eight more. I wouldn’t trade this feeling for all the sleep in the world.
I walk through the door to my apartment with a grin on my face and a warm glow deep in my soul. This has been an experience unlike any other I’ve had in recent memory. It will stay with me a long time. And though I know this elation won’t last forever, I know what I need to do.
“Remember this feeling in ten miles.”