Every Tuesday morning, you can join the “Big Buddha run” with a group from TMT. I’ve seen the Buddha off in the distance, atop a hill, and it doesn’t look so bad. After all, living in Vancouver means you get plenty of hiking under your belt. I totally got this.

I meet up with the group at about 7:40 a.m. at the front entrance of the camp, and we are all discussing the run. Some have done it, some have not. I find out there is a 50-minute cut-off. No problem; it’s only 4 km uphill. I could probably walk that in under 50 minutes. I’m feeling slightly cocky inside my head, but outwardly I’m like, “Yeah, I’ll never make that!” Secretly, I picture myself jogging up this hill with no problems.

We pile into two vans that take us to the base of the hill. Shit, it’s much bigger up close. I panic about whether or not I should carry my 1.5-liter water bottle.

I decide that it will just weigh me down too much, so I leave it in the van. A few quick stretches, and here we go!

Almost immediately, the heat, humidity, and incline of this stupid hill hit me. I check my watch. Crap, I’m only 2 minutes in. One foot in front of the other, I tell myself. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’m sure the view is gorgeous, though it’s hard for me to tell as my vision is all blurred from the sweat dripping into my eyes. People start to pass me, and my competitive side hates this, but literally, there is nothing left to do but keep going as best I can. The road is fairly busy, and each scooter that passes usually has one of the locals on it, grinning away like this is the funniest sight they’ve ever seen. I want to slap them in their grinning faces. I hate them and their stupid motorized scooters in this hellish moment.

I look at my watch again. 10 minutes in. I’m not sure how this is possible, as I feel I have been running for days. I pass some elephants but am too tired to even care.

I see a pack of dogs and hope they’ll take me out so I at least have a valid excuse for not finishing. Oh wait, it’s only one dog…damn sweat in my eyes. And where is my water bottle?! What was I thinking leaving it in the van… the things I would do for water right now…

Finally, I hit a “flat” section of the run—and by flat, I mean still an incline, just not quite the 90-degree angle I felt I had just been doing. It doesn’t last long; soon I’m back to a steep incline, taking baby steps. It kind of feels like I’m just jogging on the spot rather than making actual progress. I see a sign with Thai writing and the number 300 on it. OMG, please tell me that means 300 meters left. My hopes rise because what else could it mean? I suddenly feel a chill. Chilled and clammy…pretty sure this is a sign of a stroke or a heart attack, either of which I would welcome with open arms in this moment to put me out of my misery.

I see the sign with 300 written on it…again. WTF? This is most certainly not indicating distance to the top, but rather a cruel joke. I have now long given up on jogging and am just focusing on not collapsing, fearing I would never stand again. I hear a strange noise that sounds like some sort of tortured animal. I take out my earbuds. Shit, nope, it’s just me and my heavy breathing.

I push on…a sweaty, panting mess of a person. I look at my clock. 38 minutes in, meaning I only have 12 minutes left to finish before the cut-off time. Better pick up the pace…I jog 3 steps. Nope. That’s definitely not going to happen. So I focus on a steady walking pace. I round a corner and see the vans at the top… it almost seems too good to be true. I must be hallucinating… one last push… the inner gazelle is inspired, and I do a jog-like walk to the finish line (42 minutes) where I retrieve my water from the van and lie on the ground in a disgusting disarray. I have one week to convince myself I can do this run again.

I push on…a sweaty, panting mess of a person. I look at my clock. 38 minutes in, meaning I only have 12 minutes left to finish before the cut-off time. Better pick up the pace…I jog 3 steps. Nope. That’s definitely not going to happen. So I focus on a steady walking pace. I round a corner and see the vans at the top… it almost seems too good to be true. I must be hallucinating… one last push… the inner gazelle is inspired, and I do a jog-like walk to the finish line (42 minutes) where I retrieve my water from the van and lie on the ground in a disgusting disarray. I have one week to convince myself I can do this run again.

The feeling of making it to the top, however, soon settles in, and I feel pretty damn proud of what I’ve accomplished. So long, Big Buddha, until next week when we meet again.

“It’s not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.” ~ Sir Edmund Hillary