Mike was like I. The two of us had a need for adventure, and
through our year together at Appalachian State we had created some of the best
memories and most wild times.
“Marathon” seeks to describe the event that first started it
all.
It was three in the morning, on a school night. The two of
us had just finished watching the movie “Cool Runnings.” With I having use to
run cross country and track on the colligate level, the movie made me want to
go run again. Not tomorrow, next week, or even soon, but at that specific
moment.
“Bro, I know this is going to sound crazy but you have to
hear me out.”
Mike was never the type to dismiss an idea without
consideration, but nonetheless I felt obligated to try and persuade him,
assuming he may try and back out.
“I want to run a marathon right now, 26.2 miles, and I know
you’re the guy to do it with.”
And so he was. Mike never hesitated. He laughed at the idea,
but immediately proceeded to change into running attire. I had much respect for
his attitude, as he did mine. From there we began what initially seemed much
easier in thought than in retrospect. We’d learn why the marathon required such
extensive training, but ultimately we’d gain a new sense of worth through this
journey we were about to embark upon – The Marathon.
We both chugged our coffee, then chugged some more. Being
truthful, we were tired and sleep deprived. Afterall, it was three in the
morning. With caffeine in our systems, and layers upon layers of clothing
covering our body, we proceeded outside. It was thirty degrees, as we were
running at 3,300 feet altitude near the beginning of the winter season.
Although I hadn’t run competitively in a year, which
consisted then of running the typical eighty miles each week, I hadn’t
completely lost all aerobic fitness in my time off. Mike, having worked out
every day that year so far, made me confident we were in fairly decent physical
shape. Therefore, the first few miles seemed rather easy. We conversed with
each other, and kept the pace slow, as our only goal was to finish the
marathon. Time was irrelevant.
The first fifteen miles had seemed as near effortless as we
could ever expect. Running near eight minute mile pace, or slightly quicker,
our legs had yet to tighten up. The main problem during this time was what was
going on inside of Mike. He stopped to take a shit three different times. I
told him to lay off the coffee, but he’s known to be a little stubborn at
times. Mike had never run more than a handful of miles before, so this run
would have to teach him of some unlearned lessons that are vital to running as
an endurance sport.
The major change of the night occurred as we approached the completion
of fifteen miles. Our calf and thighs ached in pain, and felt so tight and sore
I thought I may scream. I, the known ex-runner, wanted out. However, Mike
wouldn’t let me quit, and from there we began walking. Again, time was not of
the issue.
We would alternate walking and jogging every few minutes.
Around mile twenty Mike thought of something brilliant, saving us from the cold
temperatures outside. The gym to the student recreation center on campus opened
up at 6am. From there the two of us could walk on the track or treadmill (that
is whichever of the two would get us to the finish). From there we proceeded
indoors. The track was short in length, as a mile equaled nine laps. Circling
over the basketball courts, the track seemed ideal for not only escaping the
cold, but perfect for diverting our attention from running to those playing the
game.
It was six in the morning. Not a single person was playing
basketball.
Diverting our minds back to the track, Mike and I were
becoming delusional. Both us of couldn’t stop laughing it seemed. No jokes had
been made, nor anything funny for that matter, yet we could not control our
laughter. Nearly two hours of the slowest walking occurred there before we
decided to proceed to the treadmills. At this point we had two and a half miles
left to walk. Running was no longer an option. For the duration of these few
miles, the two of us threw our bodies over the railing of the treadmills and
hung there, while our legs walked at the pace we set on the machine. Two miles
per hour may as well have felt like a full sprint near the end of our run. We
were asking our bodies to sustain this small amount of energy, from which it
seemed as if we had none left.
Through some miracle we eventually finished. It was 9:30am.
Six and a half hours after we first started, and as a result we were a mess.
For the next two days we refused to move from our beds. We
skipped our classes, had friends bring us our meals, and experienced aching
muscles for nearly a week afterwards. The experience had been brutal.
Brutal, but worth it.
Mike and I had run a marathon.
We were officially marathoners.
