I spend a lot of time in cemeteries. This weekend I returned to the cemetery of my near undoing. Cemeteries are great places to run – well maintained, quiet, and best of all, gloriously free of traffic. Something about myself – I’m an only child who grew up in a rural area. I think this is why I have such an active internal (fine, fantasy) life. I have a tendency to become lost in dream-like thoughts during long runs, especially when I don’t need to be vigilant about my life (i.e. when I’m not in or near traffic). The longer the run, the more absurd the visions. I think it somehow speaks to diminishing glucose levels and an impending brain-bonk. A couple of months ago, during an unseasonably warm long run, I wanted to stash some extra layers in the cemetery with the intent to retrieve the clothes on my return trip home. After many moments of indecisiveness (one of which resulted in momentary panic when my foot got stuck in some sort of quicksand like snowpit) I opted for a semi-open mausoleum. I found a dark corner in the back that looked low-traffic, ditched my gear, and continued on my 32K journey.
Back then I was still battling Evil Knee Pain (soon after, I won). As the kilometres klicked by the pain in my knee intensified and as the pain intensified I cranked up my iPod in an effort to distract from the simultaneously stabbing and throbbing sensations. Despite the injury the run was lovely, mostly because of the surprisingly glorious temperatures (record-setting as it turns out). By the time I returned to the mausoleum the music was pumping (read: louder than safe) and I had spent the last 5K amusing myself with ridiculous fantasies starring the undead who had found my gear and decided to take up running. With the lumbering stiff-legged zombie gait (years of burial will do that to you) the movement was more like a jog-gallop than a run, but still impressive. Curiously, they did not jog-gallop with their arms straight out in front in traditional zombie-style, rather they ran with their arms bent at a 90-angle in the classic Fonzie position. Nice and efficient running form for chasing the not so dead like me. Which they did, but I outran them. They were well rested, but I seemed to be better hydrated. I also wore superior shoes. As in, I wore shoes and they jog-galloped barefoot. These daydreams provided some much needed comic-relief. When I’m glucose starved I find myself to be incredibly funny. For some people this happens when they drink.
During the run myPod had shuffled up an excellent mix of motivational music to get me through that painful final 10K. As I headed back to the crypt to get my stuff Eminem’s Lose Yourself totally hit the spot. Now, I will admit – my overactive imagination had left me feeling a bit jumpy. Nevertheless, I bravely crept toward the back corner of the tomb to retrieve my gear. As I bent over to pick up my stuff I heard it. It was the heart-stopping sound of a creepy haunted house door opening. The classic horror movie scary door; the kind of door you never want to go through unless you are young, female, wearing a negligee, and are about to be killed. Easily spooked due to the zombie movie that had been playing in my head, my heart rate (and I wear a monitor so I confirmed) spiked by no fewer than 40 BPM. As I frantically scanned the coffins to locate the mysterious door (of certain doom) even more confusing and horrifying sounds echoed around me.
I am not entirely sure how many seconds (felt like minutes) passed before I came to the embarrassing realization that, at the exact moment I entered the darkest corner of the crypt and bent over to retrieve my mittens, the song Thriller had started playing on my iPod.
