Dean Would be Proud

I fin­ished read­ing Ultra­ma­rathon Man by Dean Kar­nazes this morn­ing. I was inspired, and tired. After read­ing about Dean’s long and extreme runs up and down the Sierra moun­tains, the scorch­ing heat of Death Val­ley, and to the South Pole, I decided I had to set out on my own adven­ture. Surely, with the endor­phins rac­ing through my body and my heart pound­ing after vic­ar­i­ously run­ning 200 miles with Dean from Cal­is­toga to Santa Cruz, I could sur­vive a long trip of my own.

So, I estab­lished a des­ti­na­tion — one far­ther than I had trav­eled in months - put on my run­ning shorts and t-shirt, laced up my Asics, and headed out the door. I was a lit­tle sore right from the first step, so was ner­vous about my prospects and how quickly I might have to face the pain Dean all-too-well described (the descrip­tion of his puke con­tents all over the wind­shield was a lit­tle too vivid, no?!). As I pushed for­ward, I rec­ol­lected how Dean had to change his shoes early on in the Bad­wa­ter race, before he real­ized that his shoes wouldn’t melt so quickly if he ran on the white paint strip on the side of the road. Not too long after that hell­ish mem­ory, I found myself out in the sun in the mid­dle of the day with­out cover. I began to heat up. I could feel the sweat run­ning down my neck and back, but I pushed onward.

Then my left left leg started to cramp up and pain began to shoot down my left leg,  all the way to my toes. I had to limp for fear that the pain would crip­ple me and I wouldn’t be able to reach my goal. Yet I also knew that I dare not stop to rest, as I would likely not be able to get back up for some time after­wards. I pushed on, deter­mined to make it. I couldn’t let Dean down (even though he doesn’t even know I exist). I kept ask­ing myself over and over, “What would Dean do in this situation?”

After what felt like for­ever, I finally saw my des­ti­na­tion up ahead. I felt a renewed source of energy. Hope lifted my spir­its and my feet and my pace began to quicken.  And then, all of a sud­den, I was there. I raised my head with pride. I had made it. Dean would surely be proud of me, and to know that he had, in a way, made it all pos­si­ble. If he had not shared his tri­als and tribu­la­tions in such inti­mate detail, I may not have had the courage to fol­low my heart and go the distance.

I walked into Peet’s Cof­fee (is there a bet­ter des­ti­na­tion?!) and ordered a small, half-decaf amer­i­cano with just an inch of water. If only Dean were there. I would love to buy him a cup of cof­fee (with no refined sugar or sat­u­rated fat, of course).

Okay, okay. I got a lit­tle car­ried away with the drama there. Truth be told, I walked about 1,600 meters (just under one mile — sounds bet­ter in meters, doesn’t it?) in about 22 min­utes. For me, though, that was an accom­plish­ment (the pain part was mostly real). Being holed up at home with a her­ni­ated disc for a cou­ple of months has made me pretty stir crazy (and men­tally crazy, too, with all the Vicodin). While long dis­tance run­ning is only a fan­tasy for me now, I hope that after my upcom­ing back surgery I am able to get back out on the road and trails and slowly increase my dis­tance. And who knows. I might even be able to buy Dean a cup of joe after all.