How To Run 22 Miles With No Training Whatsoever

When I woke up on Friday morning, it suddenly felt like a good time to run a marathon.

Secretly, I’ve been wanting to run a marathon for years, but I’ve just never done it. I don’t know why exactly. It’s always been one of those things that I wanted to do at some point, but  never really put serious work into making it a reality.

So, when I woke up on Friday morning I thought to myself, “I’m going to run a marathon today!”

As I showered and began to think about the route I would take on my 26.2 mile run, I began to think about all the reasons I had not run a marathon in the past. After all, I used to run all the time. There were plenty of chances when I was younger (and in better shape) to run and complete a marathon.  But for some reason I had never done it – nor had I even attempted such a long and arduous event.

Thinking about all the reasons I had not attempted a marathon in the past, I came up with the following four excuses:

1. I didn’t want to pay the  entrance fee that most organized marathons charge to participate.
2. I didn’t want to train for months and months on end.
3. I don’t like running around other people – I feel like they are starring at me and judging my form.
4. I’m not a morning person. And because most marathons start in the early morning hours, it wasn’t something I wanted to do. Get me up before noon and I feel like S&*%. But get me up at 4 AM and tell me to start running – I might as well be dead.

From the surface, these four reasons for not having run a marathon are all pretty lame. But in one way or another, it is quite true that these four excuses have been holding me back from actually attempting a marathon run for many, many years.

So, as I exited the shower on Friday morning, I thought to myself, “I’m going to run a marathon today! And I’m going to do it on my own, thus avoiding the entrance fee; I’m going to do it with no training (I haven’t done any serious running in at least 5 years); I’m going to do it in the afternoon, when I feel my best; And I’m going to do it on a remote trail with few other people in sight, so I don’t have to worry about people starring at me as I jog along. “

After taking my shower and getting dressed, I hopped on my bike, rode about a mile to a nearby bus stop and then chartered the bus across town for about five miles, before exiting and riding another mile on my bike to a remote parking spot in the middle of Park City, Utah’s famous rail trail. It was here that I would begin my run.

After locking up my bike and taking a few quick swigs of water from my water bottle, I took off down the trail at a slow, but steady pace, while listening to music blare from the eardrums of my iPod. The goal from here on out would be to keep running, no matter what!

The Park City rail trail is a 20+ mile stretch that runs from Park City, Utah’s Prospector Square to the city of Coalville near the border of Wyoming. The trail, for the most part, is compact dirt which has been laid down over what was once the railroad line that brought silver and other valuable minerals out of the Park City mines. Along the route, there are small brown signs that mark off the miles… and I would use these signs to tell me exactly how far I had run.

Now running for the first time in years, I completed the first mile with relative ease. “That wasn’t so bad,” I thought to myself as I jogged along. But then I got a side-ache!

I had forgotten what side-aches feel like. They aren’t a lot of fun… and I hadn’t gotten one in years. But I pushed through it and by the end of mile two, the ache was gone and I was feeling good.

As mile three approached, I began to feel winded and heavy. I was proud of myself for having run three miles in such relative ease, but when I thought of the 23.2 miles still ahead of me I began to doubt my abilities.

I pressed on however, and by mile six I felt like a million bucks! I was flying now. I had found a good steady pace and I was having a blast. I couldn’t believe how good I felt and how well I was doing. “I think I’m going to be able to finish this thing,” I thought to myself as I skipped along and danced to the music that was playing in my ears.

The next couple miles seemed to absolutely fly by. I don’t even remember running them. I was in the zone and actually having fun.

But then I hit mile marker nine and it suddenly felt as thought my legs had put on an additional twenty-five pounds. Each step seemed more difficult than the last and my pace began to slow.

I tried to slow down at this point, because I knew I still had a long way to go, but by the time I hit the 13-mile mark, I knew I was done for. I was half way there, but my body was completely thrashed!

As I limped along for the next few miles my legs began to throb. Not only did they feel incredibly heavy, but my feet were sore and my legs began to tighten. Barely able to bend my knees anymore, my steps became smaller and smaller. As my foot hit the ground with each and every pace, I grimaced in pain. It felt like someone was hitting me in the calf and thigh with a baseball bat – over and over again.

For nine miles I winced my way through thousands of painful steps. Each mile, the pain got worse and my legs became less capable of bending.

At mile marker 22, I realized I could go no further. I had reached my limit. And while I was so incredibly close, I knew that I was done!

As I hobbled across the small brown mile marker that would signify the end of my run, I stopped for a moment and sprawled out on the hard, rocky ground. It has been three hours and forty seven minutes since I started the run. And remarkably, I wasn’t even the least bit winded. I had imagined begin quite out of breath by this point in time. But the reality was that my lungs felt good. My legs, however, did not!

After several minutes of laying in agony on the ground, I forced myself to my feet and began to walk back in the direction of my bike.

Unfortunately by this point in time, my legs were so far gone that even walking was a pain. I continued on, however, as I had little choice. But after about a mile it began to grown dark and as sweat continued to pour down my back, I began to get cold.

“I’m not going to make it back to my bike,” I thought. “What am I going to do?”

It was nearly 7 PM now and I was walking in the cool, dark shadow of a large mountain pass. To my right was the freeway that led back into town… and three miles ahead of me was my bicycle, waiting for my return.

I knew I could walk the three miles back to my bike, but it would be a long, cold and painful walk. And even when I got there, I’d still have to ride the bike back to my house. “Or… ” I thought to myself, “I could jump on the freeway and try and hitch a ride back into town! So that’s exactly what I did.

I climbed a small hill, ran across the freeway and then began to walk in the shoulder, sticking out my thumb as cars and trucks whizzed passed.

Now, I’ve done a fair amount of hitchhiking before, so this is nothing new. But after a few minutes I began to get discouraged. I was sure someone would have stopped to help me by this point in time.

It was then that I noticed a white car with lights on top approaching. It was the Utah Highway Patrol… and they were pulling over. I was in big trouble!

As the white patrol car pulled to a stop behind me, I waved at the officer inside and smiled.

The officer eventually exited the car and approached me on foot, his hand on his gun.

“Hello,” I said, slightly out of breath. “I was running on the trail down there. I was trying to run a marathon… and I made it 22-miles, but I couldn’t go any further. So I was trying to get a ride back into town.”

“You were trying to run a marathon?” The officer asked me.

“Yup! And I made it pretty far, but my legs are just too sore to keep going,” I told him.

“Okay,” the young officer said. “Do you have any ID on you?”

“No. I’m sorry. I was running, so I didn’t want to carry anything extra with me.”

“What’s you name?” The officer then asked?

“Darren Alff” I told him, helping him to spell it out as he wrote my name down on a small pad of paper.

After looking me up on his computer, he walked back to me and told me to get into his car.

“Where do you live?” he asked. “I’ll take you back home.”

“Whew!!!!” I wasn’t in trouble!

The officer then circled around the vehicle, got in the driver’s seat and drove me all the way back to my house.

As we pulled into my driveway, I thanked the officer, shook his hand, and slowly made my way toward my front door, limping with each and every step.

I had left my bicycle out on the trail… and at this point I didn’t really care. I would come back and get it the following day, and cross my fingers that it was still there. All I wanted to do now was go inside, take off my shoes, lay on the couch and watch TV. I was exhausted, my feet were actually bleeding and my legs felt as thought they were mince meat.

In the end, I only made it 22-miles, but I’m extremely proud of what I was able to do with no real training of any kind. I was surprised at how quickly the miles ticked by and at how long my body had actually lasted. And more than anything, I’m proud of the fact that I was able to run 22-miles on my own terms. I didn’t have to pay any money to do what I did. I didn’t have to wake in the early morning hours. I didn’t have to train for months and months on end. And I didn’t have a single person look at me during the entire 22-mile run. Best of all, I now have a great story to tell about my 26.2 mile run attempt and my escort home by the Utah Highway Patrol.

So, you ask: Will I ever attempt to run a marathon again?

Absolutely!

But next time, I might try training for a couple weeks before making another attempt.

Photo by Mike Baird

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