Ready to run 5 hilly miles through the darkness while watching my behind
On our team of 12, I only knew 3 of my teammates beforehand. And of course, those 3 teammates ended up in team cargo van #1, while I ended up in van #2. Typically the vans only connect every 6 hours or so for about 15 minutes at a time, so I spent the majority of the next 27 hours that it would take our team to finish with 5 total strangers.
I spent about 2 of those 27 hours running, with 30 minutes or so of that running hills that don't exist in the Boston area. And all of the time spent running was spent without headphones, as they're not allowed on the course for safety reasons. This was the first time since high school soccer tryouts that I'd run without them, as I was stuck listening to the thoughts in my head. "How much farther . . . fuck I'm tired . . . . when does this goddamn hill end?!?"
I spent a whole 2 hours of those 27 hours sleeping on the back bench of a cargo van (and 5 minutes figuring out how to climb over the 4 benches in front of me full of sleeping teammates to go piss in the middle of the night). I don't think I ate anything that could actually be classified as a "meal", as all food ended up in "snack" form (bananas, Cliff bars, cheese and crackers, etc). Any bathroom break was spent in the cozy confines of a port-o-potty. And of course, any time spent in the van was spent with 5 other people who would go showerless despite running anywhere from 13-20 miles over the course of 3 legs.
Basically, there is nothing on paper about this relay race that should be fun. Stuck in a cargo van with smelly strangers for 27 hours with almost no sleep and no decent food while running hills in the middle of the night that make your fight back tears. Nothing fun at all.
But it was. It was more than fun. It was fucking awesome.See those people below? Those are 12 happy people that just ran 200+ miles as a team. Those are 12 people that immediately committed to run the same race in 2011 because they had so much fun together. Those 12 people drove an hour back to Boston, showered, and then met back up at the bar to get drunk and close it down at 2am, despite getting almost no sleep for the last day and a half,
So the idea of doing hot yoga with Katie and Sarah from work was kind of like running Reach the Beach. Take something I enjoy doing and tweak the atmosphere so that it's a more arduous experience. Expect to bitch a lot during it. Expect to finish it and then look forward to the next time. If it doesn't kill me, it'll only make me stronger.
The man in the picture below just finished 90 minutes of hot yoga. This man. . . . is not a happy man.
This man is holding 2 drenched shirts that he used to constantly mop up sweat for 90 minutes (this man stupidity forgot to bring a towel). This man is wearing a t-shirt, shorts and boxer briefs that are as wet as they would be had the man just walked out of a pool. This man had to stop multiple times during the 90 minutes to rest in order to not pass out, despite guzzling down 40 ounces of water in an attempt to survive the absurd heat and humidity (probably 100+ degrees and 50% humidity). When asked by Katie and Sarah if he would do hot yoga again with them, this man said "ummmm . . . . we'll see."
Now 2 days later, and my answer is still probably an "ummmm . . . we'll see." It was brutal. And it's amazing how many different types of "in-shape" people can be. I could probably go out today and play 90 minutes of soccer in 90 degree heat, and I'd be fine. When I'm moving, and when I'm thinking about the competition, I'm not thinking about my stamina. Even during the lonely runs of Reach the Beach, I still was able to fall back on the "gotta keep moving for the team" mantra. Hot yoga was just me against my ability to avoid passing out. Get into a pose and stay there, as you watch sweat drip from your shirt at a rate of about a drop per second. I've already done yoga on my list, but this was a completely different beast, worthy of its own itemization. Yoga was me vs. my pseudo-ADD. Hot yoga was me vs. the need for an EMS.
Anyway, like the half-marathon I ran last year, I'm glad I did it. It pushed me to my limits . . . but I'm not sure I need to reach those limits again. A case of what doesn't kill me only makes me a disgruntled, exhausted sweaty mess.
And that navy blue shirt I'm wearing in the post-hot-yoga picture above? If you zoom into that little yellow logo, you'll ironically see the following:
- Thanks to Katie and Sarah for taking me along. Though it may be the same type of begrudging thanks I gave Danielle for Item #10
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