That was the most difficult 20 miles I ever ran. Well, wait. I take that back. Eleven of those miles were the most difficult miles I ever ran in my life. Ever. I'm not even kidding. After the first three miles, I joined a pal for the next 11. She's all, "Well, I thought we'd run on some of the trails!" And I'm all, "OK! Trails! I love trails!" Thinking, like, TRAILS. Flat, straight, crushed gravel. You know, trails.
No. She meant TRAILS. Like, through the woods, up the bluffs, over bushes, wading through knee-high prairies trails.
You guys, I'm not even kidding, we had bloody legs from cuts and scrapes, mud splatters up to our thighs, burrs in our clothes, rashes on our shins from god knows what. Katie even got a slug attached to her arm. All within the first three miles.
It was... so awful. After going at the trails for an hour, we hadn't yet covered five miles. I can generally cover almost seven in that time. But we were busy crawling over tree branches and up bluffs and dodging rocks. My legs were cashed by the time we were done, and I still had six miles to go.
I consider not the 20-mile run an accomplishment, but the fact that I did not break even one ankle during the trail escapade the accomplishment. And this morning I'm feeling it. My legs are all, "OK, really, broad? Because was that necessary?"
To be honest, no. No it was not. But it was an adventure. So score one for being a badass.