Last night I got a crazy bug up my ass and decided I ought to run a lap around lake Bemidji, which is around a 16.5 mile trip. I haven’t run that far since marathon training in April, but I’ve been doing well on the bike and I decided that it would be totally doable if I didn’t come out of the box too hot. I set my goal pace at 10min/mi and took off.
The weather has been amazing. Yesterday it topped out in the mid to upper forties, and I was running, at night, in tights and a long sleeved t-shirt, and I felt mildly overdressed. Is this really December in Northern Minnesota? Are we really this lucky? I packed a hat, gloves, wool socks, and my wind vest into my Camelbak along with a couple of rice based chocolate cupcakes I baked up a while back. Leaving my house I made good time to the trail where I could turn off my headlamp and rear taillight. I wouldn’t need them again for about ten miles.
The miles sailed by, and the quarter inch of snow on the trail reflected enough starlight that I could see where I was going. It’s funny how when you’re alone at night negative thinking can get the best of you. Things like “you haven’t run this far in months, you’re going to hurt yourself” and “you’ve not even put 100 miles on your new barefoot style running shoes; this is a recipe for exploded Achilles’ tendons” kept going through my head. I also had the sudden realization that if I slipped, fell, and whacked my noggin on the pavement, I’d probably die out there since no one would find me until morning. But by focusing on my stride and the starlight I was able to stifle that sort of thinking, live in the moment, and enjoy my run.
I made one crucial error that I would pay for later–an error that would cause me to fail in my attempt to circle Lake Bemidji–and I made it before I even set foot outdoors. My Camelbak had sat hanging up, unused since summer, and had developed a thin, greenish film inside. I rinsed it out a few times and filled it before the run, hoping that all would be well. It wasn’t. The water tasted a bit funky, but when doesn’t water out of a Camelbak have a bit of an odd flavor? I decided to sip slowly from it, knowing that whatever was in there might stop my run, but sixteen miles without water would definitely finish me off. Thirteen miles into my run I was hit with sudden and violent stomach cramps accompanied by heavy sweating. All I could picture was some tiny protozoan creature attacking the lining of my digestive tract. I pushed on, but my abdomen began to spasm. This was without a doubt the worst pain I’ve ever felt while running.
I slowed down to a walk and it got slightly better. Checking my watch, I could see that I was up a good five minutes on my desired time, so I decided to slow it down and keep walking until I was at my goal pace and see how running felt. As soon as I ran hard again, the cramps and sweating returned. I was finished, just three miles from the end of my run. I called Cyndi to come pick me up. Coincidentally, earlier that day she’d been sick and asked me to drive over to her place to take care of her, which constituted bringing her a glass of icewater and assuring her she’d live. I figured it was a fair trade.
Even though I didn’t get my full lake lap, it was a great night and a great run and I’m proud of what I did. This morning my legs feel a bit stiff, but nothing that twenty or thirty minutes of spinning on my bike won’t cure, and hey, I did do a half-marathon, on a whim, at night, in the middle of December. That’s not too shabby.
