The Internal Monologue of an Unprepared Marathon Runner
Hey, this won’t be so bad.
Ohmigod. This is torture.
This shouldn’t be so hard, right? Look at the other people running this: there are a lot of old folks and chubbsy ubbsies. No problem.
Woo-hoo! 5K done! And in just 20 minutes. That would have been, like, good enough to be top-15 in my YMCA’s Turkey Trot last Thanksgiving. No big deal.
Why do all women run funny? I swear every one of them has the same gait as a gazelle who’s been impaled by a spear, only with more awkward arm-swinging.
All of these people cheering from the sides of the course are really encouraging. If my name was Jenn, Heather, or Sarah and they were yelling for me, it would be at least twice as inspirational.
Just had my first energy gel. It was coffee flavored, and it tasted just like the real thing, except if coffee was a disgusting viscous gel instead of a delicious liquid.
Jesus, it’s hard to drink from a tiny cup of water while you’re running. This is probably why very few bars feature treadmills.
Nine miles in an hour? Sub-three-hour marathon, here I come! I’m pretty sure if I do that I get dual citizenship in Kenya. Next stop: being a benevolent dictator!
My legs are starting to feel like maybe I should have gone more than eight miles on my longest training run. Probably shouldn’t have gotten off to such a fast start.
Okay, fine, I can’t break three hours. I’ll just try to pace myself using, hmmm, how about that chubby guy over there?
Alright, Fatty could really haul his gigantic ass. That wasn’t even fair. I’ll use this 70-year-old man as my new pacer. He sort of wheezing, so I should be able to keep up.
How can an old man move that fast? It’s gotta be steroids.
Alright, halfway there. And really, I only puked a little blood on the last mile. I can totally make this.
Christ, I totally can’t make this.
What do you mean the next first aid tent’s at mile 15? So I’ve got to wait another 1.7 miles to quit this nonsense?
I’ve gotta pee so bad, but the line at those Porta-Potties is like a hundred people deep. I’ll just find some other place to go.
Oh, come on, dogs probably piss on that guy’s mailbox all the time! Does he call the cops on them, too?
Crap, I was going to drop out here, but there’s a really hot girl at the first aid tent. I think her dad just had a heart attack during the race. Sure, she might be distracted by that, but no way I’m going to drop out now and humiliate myself in front of a girl who’s at least a seven.
Would it be weird to ask for her number after the race? Remember to cross-check obituaries with Facebook if I can’t find her.
It feels like someone’s stabbing my calves with each step I take. Oh, well, it’s worth it if I can have a beer at the finish line.
Yes, my sponsor would be cool with me having a drink after this race. If I can stay sober for 26.2 miles I’ve earned it.
This hurts so much. I blame the ancient Greeks. Lousy endurance-running, polytheistic sons of bitches.
At this point, I can’t quit without an injury. What does an injured hamstring look like?
Tried looking like I had an injured hamstring as I ran. The looks people gave me were more confused than sympathetic, even when I yelled, “Ow! My hamstring!”
I’m pretty sure the blister on my left big toe is now large enough that it has a decent shot at getting statehood.
You know, they say you go faster if you take a walk break every once in a while, then start running again refreshed. Why not try that?
I think this walk break may have dragged on a bit too long. An old man just told me to “Keep running, boy!” I’d punch him in the throat, but I don’t have the energy.
God, if you’re up there, I swear to Christ I’ll start going to church if you get me through this.
If I stopped here and threw my shoe across the finish line, my tracking chip would record my finishing time. It’s worth a shot…
Finally! I’ve gotta remember to tell my friends this was easier than it sounds.
Originally published on SportsPickle by @EthanTrex.