Saturday, 9:00 am: I roll over, peel the mask from my eyes, and wake up to the racket of water slamming the gutter. Today is the 20-mile day, the day of reckoning, the day of dread. I have never run 20 miles before, and in these conditions, it looks like it’s going to stay that way. I roll over.

10:30 am: I am up for real, and the water is coming down for real. It’s doomed. I send the pouty texts and change my schedule for next week. It’s not meant to be.

2:30 pm: Over some oatmeal, I look out in the rain and wonder what could’ve been.

3:00 pm: I’m doing it. This is the worst time, which is just what I deserve. The glasses come off, and the rain hat comes on–this is going to be a battle. For good measure, I put on my lucky shorts and don my warmest exercise shirt, stuffing the elastic pocket with a bar and an exercise gel. only the gel is expired; this is a win. With the door locked, I take a leap of faith, narrowly clearing the puddle outside my door.

3:15 pm: Life is great. Why didn’t I start 6 hours ago? The endorphins are already working their magic. I just started and am already on cloud 9. If only this worked for more than just running. If just starting is always the hardest step, imagine what other–shoot! I zoned out for one minute, and now my shoes are soaking wet and covered in mud. Only 18 miles to go.

3:30 pm: I’m only 3 miles from home, and I’m squeaking down streets I’ve never seen before. Davis is much larger than I thought. The interview I am listening to has gone off the rails. I now know something about lot lizards, and knowing anything about them is already too much (they are not lizards). If God is out there, there is no way I’d be here. I’m not even a fifth of the way done.

4:15 pm: I am experiencing a magnetic attraction towards Russell Boulevard. It’s irresistible. I was warned about the phenomenon; Russell Fever gets everyone. It would just be so easy to finish the run by running 7 miles out and then 7 back along Russell Boulevard, and then I would receive the lifelong admiration of all other sufferers. Of a higher mind, I stave off the sickness by running 3 miles on Covell instead. It’s more dangerous and less well-maintained compared to Russell, but it’s of my own volition.

4:30 pm: The danger avoided, I am now running on Russell Boulevard. Trust me. It’s not Russell Fever; it’s only a 2 mile stretch. The rain has stopped, and the miles are blurrier than I expected when I started the run without glasses. For the first time ever, I am eating on the run. After I cross by a pair suffering from the aforementioned condition, I imagine myself as a literal food truck, and I wonder if I truly did escape Russell Fever. The clock has finally hit 90 minutes. If all goes well, I am halfway done.

4:40 pm: I can keep this up forever.

4:50 pm: It’s been at least 3 forevers.

4:55 pm: I used to not believe in the Dunning-Kruger effect, but now that I’m squarely in the “valley of despair,” its existence could not be more obvious (if you are not familiar with the Dunning-Kruger effect, imagine feeling despair so deep that you are at the bottom of a valley; that is the valley of despair). This realization has given me hope, as the valley of despair is not the end. If I can climb the “slope of enlightenment” on this run (if you are not familiar with the Dunning-Kruger effect, imagine feeling so enlightened that you could rise and run over any obstacle; that is the slope of enlightenment), I’m sure I can break through the barrier with–shoot! I zoned out for one minute, and now my shoes are soaking wet and covered in mud. Only 8 miles to go.

5:15 pm: I feel great. I feel unstoppable. This is my fastest mile yet (it’s exactly average). It’s only 12 more miles to do an entire marathon, so why not add on 6.2 more? It’ll be easy, and imagine how cool that would be. And by the way, this energy gel tastes absolutely amazing. The strawberry banana flavor is the shit; why did I think this was gross the first time I tried it? Maybe they taste better once they have expired!

5:25 pm: Is this headwind literally making me run in reverse? Whoever invented the levee is a sick freak. This is cruel and inhumane. The finish is only 4 miles away, yet it has never felt further. I thought the guy who sonically taught me about lot lizards was a swell guy, but now he’s addressing the allegations?? I was treating him like an investigative journalist this whole time but he’s actually a dudebro?? If I jumped down the levee and sat in the stream for a few hours, how many of my problems would I solve? How many million pieces of litter do I have to pick up to make up for the wrapper that has mysteriously disappeared from my pocket? 

5:30 pm: What would happen if I dropped everything and just went to live in the forest? Is the Maillard reaction named after a duck? Why is soirée pronounced soirée? Do elementary school teachers get angry when the year school starts and they realize this year’s class clown isn’t as funny as last year’s?

5:40 pm: My consciousness has reached the other end of the spectrum. My legs are cinderblocks, and all my hips want to do is lie, but I don’t feel any of it. I don’t feel anything. My brain is all shriveled up–It’s the obstacle keeping me from finding the M&Ms in my trail mix. Why has no drinking fountain magically appeared this entire run?

5:50 pm: The ending is so close, just 5 more laps around the track. I can’t wait to see my friends on the field after, they will make me feel so loved.

6:05 pm: It’s cold out, and my friends left 18 miles ago; they were too cold. Why did I decide to finish 2 miles from home? 

6:10 pm: I just tried to jog. It’s doomed. After 3 hours, my reward is a cold walk home. It’s an apt conclusion. 

6:15 pm: Did I have a euphoric experience? I know I didn’t experience Russell Fever. Did I reach a higher plane of existence?

6:20 pm: On the levee, at 5:30, I did. The sick freaks who invented the levee knew what they were doing. 

Alex Motawi