I have to say that training for this run was no easy
task. I’ve been running for 20 years, so
I’d like to consider myself an experienced runner. “It’s only 8 miles” I told myself. "How bad could it be?" However, running long distances in the
islands can pose for quite the challenge.
First you have the issue of where to run. St. Thomas isn’t exactly ‘runner friendly’. There are no evenly paved sidewalks (or,
roads for that matter), or nicely wooded suburban trails. In fact, there aren’t even shoulders on the
road that you can run on. So, you have
to run on the actual road. This would be
safer if the road was nice and straight, but the roads down here are about as
straight as Ricky Martin, so safety is out the window.
Then, there’s the issue of which side of the road you should
run on. Of course, the rule is to run against
traffic, which down here would be on the right side since we drive on the left. However, when you’re running in
the road, up a hill, approaching a 90 degree turn you don’t want to be on the
inside of the hill/turn – that’s called having a death wish because the one
thing that the islanders do fast (the only thing as far as I can tell) is
driving. So, this is the exception to
the rule. Except, some of the roads are
so curvy that you can’t avoid this issue.
This is when you have to get creative.
Upon approaching a sharp, blind turn, on a very curvy road I tend to run
out in the road more and sometimes even flail my arms out in a semi-panicky
state with the hopes that the oncoming driver will see me. So far, this has worked.
Then you have the issue of stray dogs. I’m a huge dog lover, and I’ve never been
afraid of dogs, but the locals here don’t necessarily have the same affection
for dogs that I do. Unfortunately, this
means that dogs here live a bit more on the wild side. So, recently I’ve developed this fear of
being attacked by a dog while out on a run.
I should probably carry mace or something, because at different moments
throughout my runs I often find myself coming up with a ‘back-up’ plan for what
I would do if an island dog attacked me.
Seriously, I look around for parked cars I could hop up on, or utility
poles I may be able to climb. In addition,
I periodically look behind me to be sure I’m not being chased. It’s not good, but it does distract me from
the pain I’m typically feeling at the time.
Let’s talk more about the pain because running to me is on
par with pain. After all the years I’ve
been running, I’d like to think that if I ever got kidnapped and tortured, I’d
be able to dig into my ‘bag of running tricks' to deal with the pain because I
have a whole slew of them. I’ve ran
through broken toes, shin splints, countless (and I mean countless) side
stitches. I’ve ran with colds, with the
flu, while hyperventilating (usually from crying), and - the best one to date -
with a fractured femur (yes, Kevin, I’m still milking that one). As a side, I didn’t know I had a fractured
femur at the time. However, I’ve never in
my life experienced the types of challenges I now face, running in the
tropics. It’s intense. The heat is intense. The hills are intense. The humidity is intense. The good news is that I’m typically so
concerned about getting hit by a car, or bit by a dog that I don’t really
notice the heat or hills much anymore.
In fact, running in fear is a phenomenon that I think should be studied
at length. It’s worked well for me.
Anyway, for the last couple of months I’ve been sticking to
my training plan, and all things considered the training went pretty well. I felt myself getting stronger and stronger,
and even did a few runs over in St. John to prepare. Considering that the Midwest, where I come
from, is flat as a board, I can honestly say that after training for
this run I’m in the best shape of my life.
I was psyched.
Until, I got the flu.
I didn’t have the type of flu that could potentially be
confused with a bad cold. No, this flu
came out and told me loud and clear "I'M THE FLU". This was the type of flu where you turn on
the TV and stare blankly at it without any sound coming out for hours. The type that you wear an eye shade over your
eyes while lying in bed during the day because you just want it to be dark. The kind where going to the doctor proves to
take all of your allotted energy for the day.
I can honestly say that I have never felt body aches like that. At one point it was so bad that I thought I
had dengue fever, which is like malaria in the Caribbean. I was a pathetic mess.
I will say that being sick this time of year in the
Caribbean isn’t like being sick in the winter in Chicago. When you’re sick during the dead of winter in
Chicago, it kind of makes sense. It’s cold,
damp, grey and miserable, so when you get sick there, it goes along
with the general theme of gloom you’re already experiencing. However, when you’re sick in the Caribbean
the warm tropical sun still comes out as if to say, ‘What’s your problem?’ So, it’s harder to feel sorry for yourself when
you’re sick in the Caribbean, which is probably a good thing.
Anyway, I went to the doctor and got on some meds. She cleared me to run on Saturday if I felt
up for it, which I translated to mean that I had no excuse not to run this race. So, I got up early on Saturday morning,
hopped on the ferry from St. Thomas to St. John and took off on my ascent up to
the top of the island with about 1,100 other people. As I climbed up the hills of St. John, the
cold medicine I was taking kicked in heavily and my mind removed itself
from my body. I now understand this to be called disassociation. It was weird, but there
seemed to be a disconnect between what I was doing physically and where I was
mentally. This is how I coped with getting
up the first big hill, which was about 1.5 miles long. It wasn’t until the torrential downpours came
at Miles 2 and 3 that my mind and body came back together, and I started focusing on
the fact that I was destined to get mononucleosis.
I have to confess that I did have to walk a few times
uphill, which is every runners most demoralizing moment, but I always picked it
back up as soon as I could. I pushed as
much as I could. Finally, I reached the
damn summit and started on my decline, I was on my way to the end. Thank God.
Then, I got a raging side-stitch on my way down, and I’m now certain that
I know what it’s like to get stabbed.
Yes, I was reaching hard to keep with this run, but I finally made it
towards the last mile of the race and felt that I may be able to pick it up
some to finish strong. However, all the
rain had made things really muddy. So,
as a final slap in the face, the last 100 meters of the run to the finish line
was a complete mudslide. I was lucky
that I didn’t fall on my face at the end, but alas I had completed my run and
all the pain I had just experience subsided.
I’m not sure why I put myself through all of this, but I guess
it’s kind of like childbirth. I’ve never
had a child, so maybe this isn’t a fair comparison. However, it seems the same in that you go
through so much for this special accomplishment, then you achieve it, and all
that pain and time and effort are totally forgotten. Then you think to yourself, ‘I can do that
again’ or ‘I want to try that again’. It’s
demented, but these are the things we do for glory.
So after taking some time to reflect, here is what I learned
from 8 Tuff Miles this year…when running try to distract yourself with as much as possible
including, wild dogs, fear of head-on collision with car, cold medicine, extreme
weather, the flu, a stabbing feeling in your side and trying not to slip in the
mud. If you can do this, then you can
make it through this run – no problem.
I’m going do it again next year.
Me, finishing 8 Tuff Miles. Please make note of that giant hill behind me.
