Sunset was fast approaching. My nausea was getting worse. I could barely even stomach my G2 and couldn’t eat anything after that last fruit pouch at Princeton. I tried to eat a Gin Gin candy, but it was making me gag, too, so I spat it out. There was no more running, I was just repeating the mantra “relentless forward motion”. First I tried to keep my pace under a 15 minute mile, 4 miles an hour was a tolerable albeit slow pace. Then I struggled to keep it below 18 minutes, then 20. Erin and I were side by side for the last 6 or so miles. Or maybe more? I honestly don’t know.
It’s all an exhausting, painful, miserable blur at that point. The last 15 miles were awful. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t some kind of magical day. It sucked and I wanted to stop moving. I was
physically, emotionally, and mentally depleted and just needed to be done. We kept calculating how long it’d take us to reach the finish but it seemed like we were stuck. Each time we’d calculate it, our pace had slipped so much that we didn’t seem to be any closer to the finish. At the same time that it was so awful, Erin and had the best conversations and possibly the most laughter. What an odd contradiction that sounds like, I know. In some weird, twisted way though, it was enjoyable in that we were in it together and we each understood exactly what the other was enduring.