Running 10km Hungover: An Epic Tale Of Self-Loathing
I experienced this recently and I think Ronan Keating was spot on with his song ‘Life Is A Rollercoaster’. Apparently this was actually a song about running. Running with a stonking hangover. I’m pretty sure that’s right. Anyway, on your marks… bang!
1km - The first kilometre of a hangover 10k is a difficult state of mind to be in with self-loathing the primary emotion. You know full well, that at every point last night when you were deciding what to drink, you went for alcohol over a water or even a diet coke. Even your drunk self knew this was stupid. But then again, you’re trash so I don’t know why we’re surprised anymore.
2km - You’re through the first kilometre and having seen the 1km sign, your self-loathing has moved into self-hatred. A 10k that is usually a routine race for you has become a test of endurance and strategy. Your sloppy preparation went so far that you started in the wrong place and are now caught up in the leisurely conversations of the 60yo+ athletes at the back of the field.
3km - After moping a little in the second km, you decide to get your shit together. Now is the time for action. The quicker you do this race, the quicker you can get home and forget this whole debacle. You make a move up the side of the road. You’re so past caring that you cake your favourite Nike’s in the stagnant yellow water from the puddles created by the road’s camber.
4km - Your heart is going at some serious BPM. You can feel yesterday’s alcohol coursing through your body. Somehow the portion of that alcohol that was cheap lager has maintained its CO2 content and has taken an overnight stay in your stomach. You’re burping non-stop unsure of whether the next will be gas or liquid.
5km - As we make it to the halfway mark, you start questioning all that you know about human physiology. You ask questions like…
How do I feel so dehydrated when I had 6 beers, 2 Baileys, 2 G&Ts and a mojito (how metropolitan!). It’s all liquid, yet I feel so dry.
6km - At my pace, the leaders will be just finishing. You know full well they didn’t go out last night. They probably all got together round somebody’s house and had a pasta party. The only liquid consumed would have been some sort of electrolyte drink that they sipped before all retiring for the evening at 9pm. They didn’t even watch Graham Norton. Would you really want to be this kind of person? Hell yeah! But we are not, for we my friends, are idiots.
7km - The 7th kilometre is a strange part of the race. You feel just about done. Done with this race. Done with running altogether. Done with drinking. Done with all the people in front of you, who at a judgmental glance, you ‘should be beating’. Done with life. Yet you still have over 3km to go. The end isn’t even close.
8km - It is at this point you can start to smell the finish line. Or is that the alcohol that you’re sweating. Who knows?
9km - Maybe for the first time in the race you believe you can actually finish this thing. You start eying up people to race to the end. The alcohol that was once pumping through your body is of course still alcohol but with a little chaser of adrenaline. This is no longer a 10km race. It’s a 1500 metre race between you, the person behind that has been using you as a wind shield since the 3rd km, a 70 year old super human and somebody pushing a pram. All of whom you think you can ‘out-kick’.
10km - You can literally see the finish line. You make your move. About 150 metres in to the final kilometre you realise you have gone too early and at a completely unsustainable pace. Yesterday’s alcohol mixed with the 4 ibuprofens and the slice of toast you had this morning feel like their creeping up your oesophagus like a slow-mo coke and mento experiment. 400m from the finish and you up it again. This time you’re going to make it. Internally screaming, you cross the finish line in an unremarkable time, claim your medal, bag of fruit, collect your things and go. Go to the nearest McDonald’s. You’re safe here. You’re safe little foolish child.
