I was never sure I’d make it to this day — my final long run of marathon training. When I finished my 20-mile run two weeks ago, I wasn’t sure. When I woke up the morning before the big training run, I wasn’t sure, and three miles into the run, I was in full blown doubt.

But against all odds and with all the aches and pains of a girl who fast-tracked her injury rehab, I crossed my imaginary marathon training finish line. I’m not ready to move on from this accomplishment quite yet, so let’s debrief — how exactly does one run 22 miles?

Carb-loading

First and foremost, fuel. I always thought carb-loading simply meant eating a big bowl of spaghetti the night before. It’s incredible how far off I was. To properly carb-load for my body weight, according to an article for Runner’s World, I must eat 600 grams of carbohydrates a day for two to three days leading up to my long run. To put the numbers into perspective, that’s equivalent to about 13.5 cups of rice…per day.

After all my teenage years of restricting carbs, I should be thrilled to make up for lost time and pound the pasta. But there is nothing thrilling about eating 600 grams of carbs. Picture this: it’s a Friday night and I’m sitting at my kitchen counter staring defeated into an endless heap of rice with my stomach full of the butter noodles I had just hours before. 400 grams down, 200 to go. I groan, “I’m so f*cking tired of eating.” I was complaining then, but boy was I grateful when I still had energy at mile 21 of my 22-mile run.

Pre-run ritual

I have the luxury of taking my time in the morning before my long runs as I have nowhere to be after. After a deep eight hours of melatonin-assisted sleep, I crawl out of bed and complete my full body assessment of what hurts today? Strained groin here, achy knee there — the usual.

After spending a few minutes with my butt in the air in downward dog to stretch out my tight calves, I limp down the stairs, committing the ultimate roommate faux pas: waking everyone up early on a Saturday morning. In case anyone is still peacefully asleep, I make sure to bang my coffee grounds out extra loudly in the trash as I make my espresso.

Once I’ve settled down with my oatmeal and coffee, I open to a fresh page in my journal and begin my pre-long run rambling spiral. It’s too early for me to be such a cognitive wreck, but after weeks of persistent injuries and with a high-stake run ahead of me, I have every right to be nervous. Completing this run would be a giant exhale of all the pent-up nerves I’ve been carrying around for months; it would finally confirm that yes, I will be able to finish the marathon. Like I said, high stakes.

After filling two pages of my journal with word vomit and reluctantly choking down my oatmeal, it’s time to accept the reality of the situation: the run is not going to run itself. So I change into running shorts and a T-shirt, pull on my double-layer socks (yes, these do work for blister prevention for those wondering) and put together my running pack. For a 22-mile run, I carry 64 ounces of water, eight salt pills, four servings of energy chews, bandaids and my beloved tub of Aquaphor in case of chafing.

Of course, the most important part of my morning is chafe prevention. Ah chafing, the joy of being a runner with boobs, thick thighs and narrow hips. I won’t go into graphic detail here, but let’s just say I apply lube in all sorts of places where the sun doesn’t shine.

Warming up

Apparently this is controversial in the running world, but I do warm up before every single run. Supposedly, the more experienced runners skip warmup, so I guess it’s pretty on brand for me to be so diligent with my warmup routine — I am a rookie after all. I’m also easily influenced, so if the internet tells me a dynamic stretching warmup helps with injury prevention, I will do it. Although, considering my track record with injuries, I don’t know how well that’s working out for me.

Like the little sheep that I am, I copied my warmup routine from various videos on social media. Right now, it’s a whole lot of hip mobility stuff because I’m about as agile as an 80-year-old man in that department. The warmup usually takes around five minutes, and once I’m all loosened up, I sling on my running pack, lace up my Hokas and trudge out the door.

There’s a very specific spot, a few blocks from my house, where I always start my run. It’s nothing special — just a random stretch of sidewalk on Hilyard St. — but it’s become my imaginary start line. At 10:07 a.m., the clock (my Nike Run Club app) starts and I set out jogging.

The first three miles of the run is the warm up — this is the unspoken rule. If you’ve ever run long distances, you know that everything gets easier after mile three. For those of you who are sworn enemies of running, I promise it doesn’t actually suck; you just haven’t made it past mile three yet. Luckily, the first three miles of this run don’t suck. My hip isn’t bothering me, the weather is behaving and I find my rhythm quickly, settling into an easy, 10:20 pace.

Miles 4-12

Sometimes, when I’m super anxious, running with headphones can be weirdly overstimulating. The rhythmic harmony of my footsteps and breathing, however, is quite meditative. So when I went out the door in the morning, I planned to run the first few miles without music. But, accompanied by birdsong and my very annoying brain, a few miles turned into 12 — by far the longest I’ve ever run without headphones.

The morning is quiet and dark, softened by heavy clouds overhead, and it feels like I’m in an alternate universe. In this particular universe, spring is in full bloom and the lawn along the river trail is all fluffy and dotted with daisies. No one has ever enjoyed running 12 miles more than I did on this day. My legs feel fresh for the first time in weeks and the tulips and cherry blossom trees are giving me their best show.

Miles 12-18

Surprised by my optimism? Here comes the negativity! God forbid I be in a good mood for a whole long run. When I say god, I mean the weather gods because at mile 12, the torrential downpour begins. I don’t mind running in the rain, but six miles of relentless wet is a bit much even for me.

As I reach mile 15, things start to get a bit rough — my hamstrings are screaming, my right hip is aching and did I mention I’m soaked? I’m in desperate need of a mood boost, so I reach for my phone to employ my secret weapon: disco music. Much to my delight, my phone has been rubbing against the wet interior of my pocket, which somehow entered my passcode incorrectly a few times and locked the screen for 30 minutes. I was perfectly happy choosing to go without music for the first two hours, but now that I can’t have it, I’m miserable.

Miles 18-22

Finally, my luck turns. At mile 18, my screen unlocks and the rain relents to a peaceful mist. I have four miles left, which is just two miles twice, and two miles only takes 20 minutes, which barely takes any time at all. This is the annoying brain I was talking about.

The rain returns at mile 20, but I don’t care. I’m riding the high of realizing that this is the farthest my two feet have ever carried me. In my excitement, I bump up to a 9:30 pace, and the home stretch feels like running with cement blocks as shoes. 21.99 turns into 22 on my doorstep and I practically crash into my front door as I swing it open and yell to my roommate, “I just f*cking finished marathon training!”