HOW TO RUN 20 MILES

Yesterday I ran 20 miles. Several people have told me they “can’t even imagine” running 20 miles. Here’s a lil secret: neither can I.

20 miles is too big to hold in my mind at once. I break the mental map into more fathomable chunks by running up and down a 5-mile stretch of the trail. Each of those chunks is, in turn, hinged at its center by a godsent porta-potty. So really, I never have to negotiate more than 2.5 miles at a time—and, worth noting, every time my brain tries to think in bigger swaths, the results are immediate: exhaustion, hopelessness, and an overwhelming desire to sit in the road and order a pizza.

Let me be clear: I AM NOT AGAINST ORDERING PIZZA FROM THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. It’s a fantastic idea and I may deploy it post-haste. But what I knew yesterday was that a pizza delivery would not only fail to make me feel better, but would also disappoint me terribly. Nay: the more elusive beast, the one I stand to learn the most from, and probably the real reason I’m Don Quixote-ing around the Finger Lakes on too-expensive running shoes, is what I’m coming to think of as the Middle of Things.

Let me explain.