On Saturdays I do my long runs. Drek drives me however many miles I am training away from the house and I have to run home. He drops me off in the middle of Farmland on a very long and desolate road. He drives in the same direction every time so the only the beginning miles are new, I've run the rest before.
Yesterday I had to make two turns on my route; one at the very beginning, and one in the middle; a turn I've done several times before.
So I start running. Forty minutes in to my run my sister calls to tell me she just finished her long run. She made great time and did such a great job that I decided to pick up the pace just to match her.
An hour and a half in to my run I start to get worried; I am supposed to be at the bottom of the hill in thirty minutes, but I don't see the hill, or the road that leads to the hill, or the road that has the turn that leads to the road that leads to the hill.
Two hours into my run I panic. I am lost. I only had two turns and clearly, I missed one. It's not like it was a maze; the road is long and flat. And yet, I was most definitely lost. I call Drek, who drives around until he finds me. He picks me up and tells me I am only a mile passed my turn; I didn't think I was on the road with the turn, so I passed it up. I have no sense of direction without my mountains. None. Drek comments that I only missed fifty percent of my turns. He is clearly amused.
He drops me off a mile passed my turn in the right direction and I keep running. This was about where I really started to hurt. I'm glad my sister called at the beginning, otherwise I might not have finished. I just kept thinking about how she sounded; so proud and so not-dead. If she could survive the run, so could I.
So I finished! Twelve and a half miles in less than three hours (Almost twenty minutes slower than my amazing super-fit sister). Hooray!
Later that day we went on a trip to see some scenic falls. There is no story about this, only pictures;