futurebird's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the run part III - extremity the run part III - extremity The night before I ate two extra dinner rolls with the soup. I know you are supposed to �carbo-load� before a big run, but I just couldn�t see myself eating a big plate of spaghetti and a stack of bread. I hoped the rolls would do it. It takes the body 6-8 hours to turn starch into sugars these sugars are the fuel that keeps the legs moving. On mile 15 my fuel was running out. I pictured the two dinner rolls, floating in the electric-blue sky. Moment by moment a quarter of each roll would vanish, like the folding arms of a clock 8 . . .7 . . .6 . . .5 . . .4 . . .3 . . .2 . . .1 . . . then there was nothing. Suddenly, I had to ask for every step. �Come on! left, right, left, right . . .� It was deadly. If I could only keep steping long enough! Soon my body would realise that the sugars from last night were gone and it was time to break down some fatty tissues for energy: that could take as much as 20 minutes, till then I had to keep moving or I�d never get the fabled �2nd wind�. It didn�t take 20 minutes, only 10. Then, at last, I didn�t have to push anymore. I was back in the driver�s seat. In no time I came to the end of the path. I didn�t want to stop at the end! So I pumped across the Washington crossing bridge. The sidewalk ended too. But I wanted to go on. I couldn�t. There was nowhere to go. I was nowhere. There was nothing but the highway, roaring all around me. Nothing but concrete and cars and trucks rumbling by. The noise was deafening. The only noise I can think of that is nearly as terrible is the sound of people talking at a large event like a cocktail party or some sort of gallery opening where the large space and the constant chatter cause the voices to meld together into one senseless, modulating roar. As I stood on the edge of freeway in my running shorts and mittens I felt that same terror. The fear of being sucked in by the white noise. The fear of looking into something that is at once entirely alien and entirely familiar. I had reached a place called �Extremity� Don�t go looking for Extremity, PA on a map it�s not there (I checked.) It seems to be the self-proclaimed name of a row of houses whose front doors open right onto the roaring freeway on the northside of the washington crossing bridge. Above the house in the middle of the three hangs a sign �Extremity� I decided it was the name of the town I was in. After waiting for a long time, I was able to cross the freeway and step over the side guard to get down to the rail tracks. If I could find the rail, I�d find the trail again. I had reached Extremity after all! Now it was time to go home. After stumbling though several freight yards I came to the trail again. I bid the monstrous freeway and it�s noise goodbye and plunged into the forest where there was nothing to hear but distant freight trains, running water and my own footsteps. When all was said and done I had run 20 miles and walked 5. 25 miles! Hardly a pencil point on a map the world. 08:28:05 - 2001-02-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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