That moment when your friend comes back

A few weekends ago, I went out for my first 10-plus mile run with my group of running buddies. I admitted right away that I was likely going to suck and that they shouldn’t wait for me. They all assured me that it would be fine, and they would “leave me in the dust” if I slowed way down.

I was grateful – nothing sucks more than the feeling of being the weakest link, the one who drags down the pack.

Surprisingly, I hung with the seasoned vets for the first 7 miles. Now, this wasn’t a beautiful 7 miles on a lovely trail of joy. It was 7 miles of crap: a vertical climb up a muddy embankment due to the trail being closed, 1/10 of a mile through a slushy field of water runoff, at least two miles of ice, and a slow drizzle of bone chilling rain that gets you just wet enough to piss you off, but not wet enough to call it a day.

My friends are pretty B.A. If I was alone, I may have called off the run. I do enjoy running in the rain, but not when the temp is in the 30s or lower. These guys, though, they’re beasts. They don’t take “no” for an answer – even from Mother Nature.

I hung in there for those 7 miles, and then we reached the turnaround point – a slow, mile-long hill. I am a big proponent of hill running – it makes me faster and keeps me engaged and challenged. But those ever-loving, slow-creeping hills can go to H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

Needless to say, I got separated from the gang. The rain got more intense, and I had to take off my glasses and carry them. Slow and more or less unable to tell cement from ice, I slowed to the pace of a walk. Then I simply started walking.

I got about a mile and a half away from the starting point before I voice messaged one of the gals and urged her not to wait for me. I’m sure I sounded like a dying walrus.

I started a slow jog again after what I promised myself would be my “last walk break” when I caught what I thought was a human jogging toward me. In my frozen delirium, I had two thoughts:

• Did that person really just wave at me from afar?
• Shoot, I can’t stop running now and look like a total wuss!

Sure enough, the person waved again and called out my name. Holy crap, it was my friend Jen. Instantly, a battle of self-loathing and relief was waged in my head. I was overjoyed to see her because I wouldn’t have to spend this last mile sloughing alone. At the same time, I was pissed that she’d waited for me alone in the parking lot because she is so nice and I was so damn slow.

Together, we started walk/jogging back to the car. Jen ended up with a cramp, which worked out for me because I was about to die right there on the trail. “It’s OK if we walk,” Jen said kindly. “We need a cool-down anyway.”

I covered 14 grisly miles that morning, most of which with my friend. Next time I’m out with a group and someone says, “Just leave me,” you can bet I will – but I’ll always be there waiting at the end of the trail … or I may just circle back to check on my teammate like Jen did. That’s just what runners do.