i'm the most average person in the world. the most average runner in the world. i don't have a training plan, i don't run high mileage, and i don't have jars full of vitamins and supplements. before a long run, i eat a sandwich with salami. after a run, it's chips and coke. i don't sleep enough and i worry too much. but every now and then, i get this urge to test myself and escape my daily routine for a few days. to find out what i'm capable of right now and where my physical limits are at this point in my life. that's why i went to portugal, where i planned to run 250 kilometers from porto to santiago de compostela. i had no more than 72 hours, which meant covering an average of 84 kilometers a day, three days in a row, self-supported. i'd missed the pain and adventure (in my mind, these two go hand in hand), and i was pretty sure i'd get plenty of both here.
the first 40 kilometers flew by without me even noticing. i ran this part with a friend, which is definitely cheating in adventures like this. on the one hand, it's incredibly uncomfortable, because any conversation, even with someone close to me, is a stressful situation. i have to find the right words, try not to look like an idiot, and make sure i don't say too much. on the other hand, because of the stress and all the talking, your sense of time becomes blurred, and suddenly you realize you've already been running for three or four hours.
over the next 30 kilometers, i start getting the first warning signs and exactly what i came here for. an upset stomach, discomfort in my knee, and the first thoughts of "fuck, why am i doing this again ?" and most importantly, crisis management. solving problems as they come. yes, part of the reason i'm here is to improve my crisis management skills. to deliberately put myself in horribly uncomfortable situations and see how i deal with them.
will i panic, get frustrated, and start thinking about quitting ? or will i calmly take action and keep moving ?
on the first day, i still have enough energy and mental freshness to choose the second option. i fixed my stomach with watermelon and persimmons (real food vs. sugary crap - 1:0). the knee pain disappeared after i switched to walking for half an hour. and i dealt with the negative thoughts by reminding myself that running through portugal and spain is an enormous privilege, something i couldn't even have dreamed of five years ago. i'm in no position to complain. i should be thanking myself and fate with every step for the fact that i'm here.
the last 30 kilometers of the first day go surprisingly smoothly. calmly, gently, looking forward to a shower and a bed. no unnecessary thoughts, no rush, no drama. just a job carefully done. i don't feel any emotions. i don't feel strong. there's no reflection going on in my head, no particular feelings at all. i simply take one step forward, that's it.
97 kilometers in the bag. 153 to go. four hours of sleep, three glasses of hot tea, one portion of cold pasta, and i start the next day at 2:20 a.m. passing through several quiet cities at night, i feel a subtle pleasure in knowing that while everyone else is sleeping soundly, i'm working, working, working.
the first 40 kilometers are spent in the darkness before sunrise, wondering how my legs are still capable of running. i didn't train particularly much before this adventure. my sleeping and eating habits are terrible. most of the time, i'm just trying to survive everyday life. and the fact that my body can still move "relatively painlessly" after 100 kilometers leaves me slightly confused.
breakfast at 8 a.m. in a café. dark circles under my eyes, hands shaking from the cold morning rain, shoes covered in dirt. i'm a wet homeless dog surrounded by respectable elderly citizens. four hot sandwiches and a large cup of coffee. the table is covered in crumbs, dirty napkins, and wet patches from my soaked jacket. i apologize, but exhaustion and determination to reach my goal have taken priority over good manners.
the next 35 kilometers are in the rain. something like working man's pride starts to wake up inside me. the pride of a laborer who can't make up for a lack of talent with anything except the sheer amount of work he's willing to put in. i'm slow. my legs are getting heavier, new blisters are appearing on my toes. and in this condition, the only way i can maintain any sense of dignity is to work like an ox. speed doesn't matter anymore. whether you're walking or running doesn't matter. as long as you're moving, you're doing fine. consistency matters more than intensity.
an omelet with jamón for lunch. a cup of coffee that drops into my stomach like a stone. i spend the last 10 kilometers of the day walking. the long-awaited pain is finally here. no more surprises or unexpected reactions from my body. i'm starting to feel like shit, which means everything is going according to plan.
78 kilometers in the bag. 175 km in total after two days.
my hotel room is on the second floor. i climb the stairs incredibly slowly. people passing by offer to help. dinner is pasta, more jamón, a jar of olives, and carrot juice. i eat lying down and fall asleep with plates in my bed. the final day begins. start at 2:45 a.m. for the first 20 kilometers, my mind is completely empty. just steady movement on autopilot through the darkness. i know i'm going to finish today. just a few more hours, a few more shitty sandwiches in village cafés, a few more cups of bitter coffee, a few more sharp stabs of pain in my right knee, a few fake smiles for passersby and this chapter will be closed.
with 35 kilometers left, i finally switch to walking. i'm tired of forcing myself to run. i don't want to anymore. i have plenty of time to be sitting in a bar in santiago by this evening. i respect myself for having the courage and determination to cover this distance so quickly, but fuck, it's unbearably boring. i'm too exhausted to enjoy the scenery. i already know this region well, so there's no sense of discovery or novelty. i'm a hunched-over, stinking bastard, the only creature in the spanish countryside who seems to be in a hurry without knowing where he's going or why. finish at 7 p.m.
75 kilometers today. 250 km in total. 61 hours. there are no emotions at the finish line. i just did the dirty work. and i did it well. did i enjoy it ? does a factory worker enjoy standing at his machine all day ? i'm not sure. he simply does what he knows how to do and what needs to be done. and so did i. there's no grand conclusion. no lesson to take away. i've run out of words. i didn't reach my limit. it's still somewhere beyond the horizon. but i want to sleep. thanks to this challenge for reminding me that i'm still capable of doing something terribly uncomfortable, something big, and something ugly. see you soon, pain cave.
