The world's longest mile

 So with some posts about walking/running/general fitness stuff I made a while back I went back and decided to do a small revision on this piece I wrote a long time ago about running my first mile. I’ve never really been one more athletics, and my journey with outdoor running has most certainly gone… pretty terribly honestly. I wrote the piece just to sorta relive the moment of it all and add a little more context for myself. It kinda ends weirdly because my relationship with running was never quite that positive following it. As with any work all feedback is appreciated! Consider it perhaps chapter one of my battle with cardio fitness. Small spoiler, but today I do find myself being able to run miles somewhat consistently, but from the comfort of an indoor gym on either a treadmill or an elliptical. I theoretically can do it outside, but something mentally just stops me from really giving it a good try. Man, that could go a long way, maybe that’s something to explore for next post? Who am I kidding, tomorrow is fourth of july, America day moment. I’ll see you then with another post, but for now enjoy this short piece about me dying during a run.

All I could feel was tired. Every year my middle school required us to do a mile run, it was for some fitness test or whatever, but regardless I didn’t want to do it. At first, I thought I could just run as fast as I could and finish it well before it would get too tiring. The wind felt nice on my face as I took off with a blazing start. The words of caution to pace myself played in my head, but there was no time to worry about that. Unfortunately, it was my first time running a mile and I had no concept for how long it would actually take. My burst of speed barely got me through 3/4 of the first lap of four. That was when the real pain began. 

I did everything I could to keep a reasonable pace, but soon my other classmates had caught up to me and then started passing me, leaving me in the dust. I couldn’t move my legs any faster, I had to start slowing down to speed walking. My chest tightened as I struggled to keep my breathing normal. My legs burned as each step required more and more effort. Every time my foot managed to touch the somewhat damp ground, I found a moment of comfort in my foot getting to rest flat on the confusing material the track was made of. My eyes tried to analyze the material, seeing if I could find a meaningful pattern. I never quite figured out what the material was. It was firm with a slight amount of squishiness. Something that I never felt uncomfortable laying against on a warm day, it definitely wasn’t as soft as a grass field though. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to ponder as it was already time for my foot to lift and advance myself closer towards the finish line. Luckily for me, my other foot just touched the ground as my other left. I could then shift my focus to that foot. I always wondered why the track had patterns painted into it. Now I know it’s to help with other various track and field sports, but back then I had no clue as I pulled my head up and tried to follow a line down to where it would end. The distraction, if anything, allowed me to think about something else other than the impending next step that I would have to take. My slower pace only made the track stretch out farther and farther from me. 

I could still see my classmates up ahead, if I didn’t go any faster I would soon be lapped and be well behind the rest. Time dragged on, almost as slowly as my feet dragged across the ground as I continued slowly speed walking, but surely became an actual walk as I was passed by people who were already a lap ahead of me. Being slowed to a walk unfortunately allowed other parts of my earlier mistake to catch up. I felt a sharp pain in my side for almost no apparent reason. Each step I made was accompanied by a feeling akin to being stabbed in the side. Breathing became annoying. I struggled to bring it back to a normal rate while at the same time trying to not to completely stop. I had to pick and choose how I let my foot fall just to even keep my pace. It made going any faster than a leisurely pace unbearable. The sounds of people running by me, meaning that I was in danger of falling behind by yet another lap, reminded me just how far behind I was. I had to realign myself. One foot at a time. Step. Breath in. Absorb the pain. Step. Breath out. Let the pain recede. Slowly, annoyingly so, I could feel my breathing coming down from frantic gasping to something that could be considered normal. The sharp pain subsided, unfortunately the burning in my legs had not. I managed to go up to a speedwalk yet again as I hit the final lap. As I got closer to the finish line I could see all my friends and classmates on the sidelines, having finished much earlier than me. As I rounded the corner for the final stretch I saw them get up and start to cheer for me. Empowered by their encouragement I did my best to accelerate. My legs protested every step, but that didn’t matter to me. I almost hit a full sprint before getting to the finish… and then I tripped. I managed to pull myself up and limp over the line, but the damage was done. Not just to my body after face planting in the dirt, but my pride as well. Luckily, my friends were there to help me, but deep down I knew that that definitely wasn’t the best thing I had ever done.