You can thank a few things for this post:

1. My caffeine buzz from QuickChek’s new “Harvest Blend” coffee. I refuse to jump on the Pumpkin Spice bandwagon, and my favorite convenience store is right there with me. You can keep your Wawa’s, Starbucks, and Dunkin Donuts. I prefer the slightly alterna-chick vibe I get by being 100% staunchly pro-QuickChek.
2. This ridiculously long but still incredibly entertaining list of gifs from Buzzfeed.

As I scrolled through the page before work, it occurred to me that many of these gifs represent my feelings before, during, and after a long run. Thusly, I present you with: The Long Run, in GIFs:

I wake up ready and raring to go.

Or not really, because I may have had a glass or two of wine the night before and set my alarm for WAY earlier than I really want to wake up on a Saturday, and who’s effing idea was it to sign up for a stupid marathon anyway?

So I stumble to the Keurig, pop in a Jamaican Me Crazy k-cup (thanks, Wolfgang Puck!), and begin the prep process. Fuel up, scrub my face, sunblock it all, and get decked out in my running gear finest then throw open the door to greet the morning with some attitude.

Stepping off the porch I remind myself that I should probably do some dynamic stretching; these knees don’t exactly have the get-up-and-go they used to, after all.

But instead I wait and wait, then take off the second my Garmin has satellite reception, like an idiot.

Or a pirate.

The first mile or so is touch and go. My music is pumping, I’m feeling fresh as hell, ready to take on this run. But my legs, knees, hips and ankles sometimes have other plans.

So I slow it down a bit and settle into a nice pace for a few miles. 2, 3, 4, 5+ miles go by, and it’s all good.

Around the halfway point though, I start to get a little distracted. Sure, I’m running, but maybe this song isn’t what I want to hear right now, let me slow down for a few strides here and find a new one. Oh look, sunflowers! That’d make a really great #seenonmyrun pic. I may even do a little run-dancing to break the monotony.

But then I catch a creeper at a red light just watching me with a weird look on his face, so I stop dancing and pick up the pace again for a few miles.

Once I pass the halfway point I start to think a little too much about things. Am I going fast enough? Can I maintain the pace that I just kept for an hour+ for another hour+? GOD my legs are starting to get heavy. Or are they? Is it all in my mind? They say running is all mental, so am I psyching myself out now, or am I really tired? Oh hey another red light.

Thank God. Let me just walk through that.

I glance at my watch and think “OK, 3 more miles. We can do that. That’s just a 5k! You can do that in your sleep. For breakfast. Mmmm breakfast. What kind of food should I eat when I finish this run? Pancakes maybe. Yes. Remember that time you went to IHOP with Jenny for unlimited pancakes and you tapped out after 3? Hahaha what a lightweight. Ugh weight. You know if you weighed less you’d probably be able to run faster. You really are so slow. I mean come on. Maybe you shouldn’t have signed up for this marathon. After all, this is only a portion of what you have to run, and you’re already flagging? You’re kind of pathetic. Just quit. Or don’t, because everyone that you told about this marathon would laugh at you and call you a failure. Maybe you need a new song to motivate you. Not that one. Another one. Another one. Oh my God, WHY DO YOU HAVE A SONG FROM THE LION KING SOUNDTRACK ON YOUR RUNNING PLAYLIST??”

It is hell inside my mind in those final miles.

Before I know it, all of my mental anguish has brought me to the final mile and my legs are ready to give up. I might have hit the wall by now, or I’m close to it. So I dig deep in my energy reserves and call upon my good friends Robyn, Britney, or Freddie for some moral support and head into the final kick.

In the last 5 minutes or so of a run, I will make all manner of uncomfortable faces, say some pretty nasty motivational things to myself, run-dance, jump, air-drum, and basically do everything I need to push through the last .5 mile and call it a day. With every step, I glance at my watch, anxiously awaiting the appearance of the magic numbers after my mileage – ##:00.

And just like that, it’s over!

I stop the watch, do a little fist pump, and maybe bend over for a bit to catch my breath because let’s face it, Brit-Brit knows how to make me work, b*tch. Time to celebrate the fact that I got through it!

With a nice cold bath.

After some stretching, rehydrating, and an ice bath (or shower), it’s food time. Sometimes I feel like eating all of the things after a run, and other times I can’t stand the sight of food, but one thing is for certain: after I eat, it is always, indefinitely, without fail:

Nap time.

FIN.