Originally Posted on Jan. 12, 2022
During my final month of being 26 years old, I journeyed 26 miles on foot in a day for the first time.
I took my 1st step at 3 a.m. as I jumped out of bed, slipped on my shoes, braided my hair, grabbed my camel pack, and headed out for the Qatar East-to-West Ultra Run.
Nineteen hours later, I took my 50,000th step while watching fireworks light up the sky above the Qatar International Food Festival, where I ate sushi and ice cream with my friend from the UK.
On Nov. 30, I made my decision to participate in the Dec. 10 race, which was 90 kilometers (56 miles) across Qatar.
Though I normally only run 5Ks five times a week, I couldn’t not be a part of the once-in-a-lifetime cross-country run.
A week before the run, my friend, Sam, and I started mentally preparing ourselves.
“Are we crazy?” he asked.
“Probably,” I said.
When we arrived at Sheraton Park at 3:30 a.m., we saw runners of all nationalities and ages. My No. 114 bib featured an American flag to the right of my first and last name.
Teams of runners wore matching T-shirts and posed for photos in front of the start line banner featuring both English and Arabic text.
My previous races were located in Lawton, Norman, and Oklahoma City—so this scene was new.
Instead of the prairie dogs of Elmer Thomas Park or the Ash tree-lined paths of mud runs, I saw skyscrapers, palm trees, and street lamps.
“But I do know this song,” I thought as “All I Do Is Win” by DJ Khaled blared from the speakers.
At 5 o’clock sharp, the crowds cheered as hundreds of runners and I took off after the announcer counted down in Arabic.
About 10 minutes into the race, I realized I’d rather be without water than to haul around the camel pack. After handing it off to a support car, I felt weightless and ran free—but I had fallen behind.
I no longer had runners alongside me. Everyone had settled into a pace and consequently dispersed.
Over the next 10 miles, strangers in support cars stopped to give me water, Gatorade, KitKats, Cliff energy gel shots, and gum.
One of the participants, who had the name “Abdullah” printed on his bib, handed me two granola bars flavored cinnamon pecan and hazelnut.
“Here,” he said, “so you have some fuel.”
He was competing in his wheelchair, and we ended up beside each other multiple times. He felt like my race buddy.
As I approached 15 miles, my hips felt disconnected from the rest of my body.
“Just keep going,” I thought. “At least the weather is perfect.”
The air was cool and the sun only slightly warm—like a fall day in Oklahoma.
As I continued on, I waved at passerby who honked and yelled “Go!” as they drove down the highway.
When crossing exits, I jogged—however painfully—to avoid any run-ins with oncoming vehicles, though police and medical personnel were also on the lookout for traffic. Every half mile or so, I popped in my earphones to silence the roaring engines.
“Been talking ‘bout the way things change / And my family lives in a different state … Rivers and roads /
Rivers till I reach you.”
This song by The Head and The Heart leads me to dirt country roads.
Four hours into the race, my pace slowed.
“It’s not worth an injury,” I thought.
As I reached the 20-mile mark, Sam texted me. He was 21 miles in with aching feet. We both gave our all.
Within the next hour, I was taking a bath, calling my family, and ordering Subway. I eventually crashed on the couch. When I woke up around 3:30 in the afternoon, I took another bath and felt surprisingly rejuvenated.
“I wonder what time the festivals are tonight,” I thought. “I bet I can make it.”
A couple hours later, I met my UK friend at the Festival of Lights at the Corniche, where boats are docked year round. Nearby, a lights show on the water took place.
We watched fountains shoot up and change colors—from turquoise to purple to pink. The fountains danced as music played. The faster the beat, the more quickly the fountains rose, fell, and swayed.
Another attraction was the FIFA World Cup 2022 Official Clock, which was a giant, illuminated hourglass featuring a live countdown.
“345 days, 17 hours, 39 minutes, and 9 seconds,” I read.
After the lights festival, my friend and I went across the street to Al Bidda Park, where people gathered for the Qatar International Food Festival.
Wooden picnic tables, string lights, and purple-lighted trees were among dozens of food trucks offering everything from shawarma and veggies to cotton candy and potato tornado on a stick.
A night that began like Christmas coincided with the Fourth of July when fireworks lit up the sky. The whole park paused to stare at the sky beyond the trees. At 10 p.m., my friend and I headed to the metro.
“I’m going to reach my goal,” I said.
Twenty minutes after 10, I looked down at my FitBit. 26 miles.
Maybe I’ll start training for a marathon.
