Desert Delirium

The moment my feet hit the ground I began to regret not leaving earlier. At 7:45 in the morning the temperature had already cracked 80 degrees and was just getting started. I originally planned on leaving around 6 but my bed was awfully comfortable at the time.

My training plans for the day included a trip up Blacketts Trail, followed by a Phoneline Loop. You can access Blacketts Trail right off of Phoneline, less than a mile from the trailhead.  It is a short, albeit ridiculously challenging jaunt up the mountain. I have recently embraced running in the heat. The night prior I was saying, "I don't even care when I get up, I love heat training!"

So 6 o'clock turned into 7 o'clock, which in-turn resulted in leaving closer to 8. Running is a lot like life, you have your good days and you have your bad days. I can usually determine what kind of day I'm going to be dealt within the first few moments of my run. On this particular morning I was dealt a bad hand. Besides the blistering heat, my energy was zapped from the very beginning. 

I'm very stubborn when it comes to running. Come to think of it, I'm very stubborn when it comes to a lot of things. Stubbornness is a trait I would like to hang on to, I sort of enjoy it. But I digress. Maybe I should have heeded the signs that this was going to be a cruel, even dangerous day of running. Unfortunately, on this day the stubbornness would prevail!

By the time I hit the trail, which is about 2 miles from my doorstep, I was pouring sweat off me like a broken faucet. I began the initial ascent, starving for air, feeling slug-like from the start. I began getting irritated with the heat, the rocks, the hikers and the steepness.  "The lack of shade on this godforsaken trail is down right sinful" I thought to myself. 

I trotted up to Blacketts Trailhead gasping for air. I looked up, way up to the top and made my only rational decision of the day. "I think I'm gonna skip Blacketts, just too hot, I'm too tired, I'm not right.." Followed by the most irrational decision of the day. "I'll just do Phoneline." 

I took a deep breath and set off. I would run for a few minutes and suddenly have to stop, exclaiming "what the hell is wrong with me?" Run for a few more minutes and halt to a stop. I began to feel dizzy and light headed. My mind became numb and I was short of breath. I looked back the way I came, "maybe I should just head back?" Thinking to myself, "nah I've gone this far, I'll just keep going." And so I did. 

I embrace my stubbornness because it's what gives me the will to not give in. I don't have a whole lot of talent but lord knows that I'm willing to work hard at it. But again I digress. I managed to string together a couple mediocre miles as the deliriousness began wrapping its wicked tentacles around me.

Once I hit the last section of trail before the descent to the Tram Road, the heat was scorching, my mind was melting. At one point I stopped, heaved my hand-held into the side of the mountain and began laughing hysterically. I wasn't right in my head and that was genuinely funny. I topped out and hid in some shade between a few giant boulders. I peered down to the Tram Road. I think I saw steam rising off the asphalt, almost certain of it. "Not the Tram Road" I mumbled, "I fucking hate the Tram Road..."

I came stumbling down the last segment of trail, but not before nearly suffering a heart attack after narrowly avoiding stepping on a garter snake that was the size of a piece of spaghetti. This just wasn't my day, in more ways than one. I took a five minute breather and said, "here I go, the final stretch of misery." I felt a tear trickle down my salty face. Or was that just sweat? Either way, I was sad.

I took off at a nice clip. I was able to hold onto a 6:30 pace, hammering away as best I could. I ran about halfway down before retreating to some shade. I sat there watching other people go about there activities. I daydreamed of making it to the bottom and calling Kristi to come pick me up. "Worst day of running in my life!" I would tell her, "just awful. Come get me, I can't make it.." I felt sick to my stomach. "Maybe I should throw up?" I thought. 

Everyone that has run the Tram Road knows about that last hill before the final stretch. This hill isn't that big, really. It's just that it is perfectly placed at the very end, right before the homestretch. For such a small bastard, it's downright debilitating. I decided to just gun it up that thing, I wanted to get it over with. This was a bad idea. After making it to the top I began to have some mild hallucinations and was extremely nauseous. I collapsed to the ground near the edge of the road. "Less than a mile to go, you can make it" trying to convince myself, "almost there."

I got up, brushed the dirt off my sweaty corpse and continued the death march. I swear that last mile was a complete blur. The next thing I remember, I was sitting on a bench under some shade with my head hunched over my knees. I sat there for quite awhile, looking at my reflection in the pool of sweat between my feet. "Well" I said to myself, "should I just call Kristi and end this torture?" 

I hate to be so redundant, but man, I am stubborn! It was only one more mile to my apartment, so why stop now? I couldn't think of any legitimate reason to give in at this stage in the game (other than suffering heat stroke and dying). I stood up, took a deep breath, said a prayer, cursed the heat, dry heaved and took off. The last mile was the perfect ending to my day. It was a fitting finish to a workout gone wicked. Pure agony. 

I made it home and fumbled up the stairs to my front door. I flung the door open and proclaimed, "That was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Just awful." And It was. It was definitely one of the toughest days I've endured doing what I love. 

Yet, I long for more.

           

                   "We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival."

                         ~Sir Winston Churchill