As I stepped up to the starting line of the Almaty Half Marathon last weekend, I felt totally prepared. I had my lucky race shorts, my Spotify playlist queued up with all the right pump-up jams, and a fresh pair of kicks ready to pound the pavement. What I didn't have, however, was enough of those little pouches of viscous goop that have become a runner's best friend and worst enemy – the infamous Gu energy gel.
For those unfamiliar with this rent-sized miracle, Gu is a gelatinous carb-filled substance designed to give distance runners a caffeinated boost of energy to power through those tough final miles. Emphasis on the word "goop" – this stuff has the mollifying consistency of pre-chewed gummy bears. Slurping it down mid-stride is about as glamorous as a hot mud facial.
But I digress. As a self-respecting half marathoner, I've been #TeamGu for years. I keep those little shammies stocked in every spool pocket, just in case I start to bonk and need a fast injection of calories and resolve. Well, for the Almaty race, I arrogantly thought two measly Gu packets would be enough to get me to the finish line feeling fresh as a daisy.
Famous last words, kids. Famous. Last. Words.
If you've never run at altitude before, let me break it down – it's really freakin' hard. By mile 8, I was wheezing like a chain smoker at their first Zumba class. My legs felt like lead pipes, my lungs were protesting violently, and I'm pretty sure I saw a bright light at one point. It was then that I ripped open my first chalky Gu pack like a ravenous wildebeest going to town on a gazelle carcass.
I can neither confirm nor deny that I may have also stolen a couple extra Gu packets from some poor unsuspecting soul's aid station grab bag at mile 10. What I can say is that by the final kick, I looked less like an elite athlete and more like a deliriously sugared-up toddler after being trapped overnight in a Crispy Creme shop.
There I was, face and hair matted in gooey brown gel, my race bib masked in streaks of sticky pink residue from the aid stations' overly ambitious Gatorade slingers. The less said about the colonoscopy prep-like Gu farts I was trailing the better. Even the stray dogs looked at me in disgust.
But you know what? I'll take that podium-worthy ugly cry at the finish line any day. Because thanks to the gloopy grace of Gu, I powered through one of the most brutally delicious half marathons of my life. I slogged up inclines that belonged on Everest, I danced though downhills like a sugared-up puppet on strings, and I crossed the finish line with a tiempo de loco that I'll be bragging about for years.
Would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat. But maybe next time I'll hire a personal Gu slinger to keep me properly lubed. Hey, us runners will do anything for our fix of that delicious sludge!
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