After another hour, I take a drink and an hour later I drink until I’m not thirsty anymore and then top off my bottle again at the next leak. If there’s anything in the water, it doesn’t seem like it will kill me quicker than thirst, but my stomach is grumbling a bit now and I don’t know what can I do about that? I wish I had eaten more before my run. Why didn’t all this happen on Thanksgiving night? I really have to get out of here.
The humming, buzzing sound of the fluorescent ballasts is grating on my nerves and the harsh white light makes me wish I had brought my sunglasses. From time to time, I sip water. I’m mostly dry by now except my shoes and socks, which have been waterlogged all day.
When biological needs creep up on me, I step off course a few rooms and relieve myself in a corner as I have not yet come across a bathroom. I choose a room where I can see a leak that I can use for any necessary clean up or I squirt water from my bottle. If I come across anyone in here, I hope it’s not during one of these moments. Of course, anyone else must be doing the same when the time comes, because I don’t see any alternatives.
By room four thousand, my legs are starting to feel tired and numb. I ran a 10k once and 5k a few times, but mainly I concentrate on my two-mile specialty and I’m very competitive in shorter runs. Since I’ve been in these rooms, I’ve covered just over the length of a marathon in nine hours, which is an incredibly slow pace, but a marathoner is done at the finish line, while I’ll keep on going. I don’t know what’s ahead or if this will ever end and I need to keep some reserves in case I need to run. Also I’ve done no distance preparation; I ran more than two miles at top speed before I came here, plus running in the storm, exploring the warehouse, and various detours caused by rooms not having openings in the direction I am heading. I’m probably up to thirty-five miles today with only a couple of bananas and some orange juice in my stomach.
It was around seven o’clock when I left the house this morning. I take out my phone and power it on to check the time. It’s just after 6 pm. Is there any point to continuing? I’m getting tired. If nothing changes, I can probably make it to room six thousand before I really need to think about sleep. I set off again.
About four hours later I arrive at room six thousand. My legs ache and I’m feeling very sleepy. It must be past 10 pm, but I don’t want to waste the battery to check. This is when I normally try to go to bed. I have been thinking for the last thousand rooms what I can do to sleep. I continue on searching for the next somewhat dry room. Six thousand eighty-four has two walls next to each other without openings and the carpet surface is dry. I go to the corner and pull the carpet up from the tack strips. It takes more effort than I anticipated, but once I get a little bit free, the rest can be peeled back without too much difficulty. I roll it back diagonally exposing the soaking wet carpet pad beneath. Under the pad is just bare concrete, which doesn’t help me at all, so I leave it in place. At least there is no standing water in this room, so I should be able to sleep fairly dry.
Stolen story; please report.
I take my two hair bands off my wrists and use them to put my long hair into a loose bun. I take off my socks, drape them over my shoes and place my shoes on the floor next to each other in the center of the room under the vent. Hopefully they’ll be dry by the time I wake up. My feet are waterlogged and super pruney. I take off my hydration belt and hang it over the rolled carpet. Exhausted, I slide myself into the rolled-up carpet. Even if a little wet, the roll provides some insulation from the cool air and blocks the bright fluorescent light that would otherwise be shining directly into my eyes. It even dampens the buzzing sound a little. As I lie in my damp cocoon a thousand hopeless thoughts fill my mind. I focus on the hum buzz I can still hear and it helps keep those thoughts at bay as I drift off to sleep.
---
My eyes open an instant later and I try to sit up, but I’m trapped. I start kicking and screaming, punching out at what has me wrapped up. I stop struggling as I realize, I’m still wrapped in the carpet roll. Light is coming in from the end nearer my head, while it is dark near in the other direction where the carpet flopped closed. I feel slightly damp from the water that was in the carpet, but my feet are dryer than when I fell asleep. I don’t know how much time has passed, but it was more than the instant it felt like.
I crawl out of the carpet cocoon and get on top of the roll. It’s fully dry. I reach over and grab my socks from on top of my sneakers, and they have dried out too. I lie back on the carpet. Since this is the bottom side, it’s rough and uncomfortable, but I’m just happy it’s not wet. I drape the two socks over my eyes. They’re very thin but block enough light that I’m not staring up into the fluorescent glare. I still feel terribly tired and my legs are achy and tingly.
What do I do now? I pull out my phone to see how long I slept. It’s 2 am—only three hours or so. No wonder I’m still tired. I turn it off again and try to clear my mind. I let myself drift off into sleep again.
---
I startle awake, sitting up completely disoriented, but it quickly comes back to me when I smell the damp air and see the yellow walls. My socks fell into my lap when I sat up and I put them on. Dry socks on dry feet is now a luxury. I realize I must have dozed off for longer this time. I feel much more rested and I’m completely dry. I reach over to where my shoes are and put them on. I’m cold and stiff so I rub down my arms, legs, and midriff, which are all exposed to the cool air of the rooms, not that my other clothing is keeping me terribly warm. I release my hair from its bun, letting it hang loose down to the middle of my back. I’m curious how long I slept, but does it matter? There’s no day or night here, only rooms. It has probably been somewhere between three to five hours, but I shouldn’t waste phone battery just to check the time.
Assessing my situation, I can’t see that much has changed now that I’m on day two. I have water, but no food. I can sleep, but not terribly comfortably or safely. I don’t have many resources: my clothing, my belt, a water bottle, earbuds with case, and a phone. Why didn’t I take some granolas and a charger?
What can I do but keep walking? I strap on my belt, drink some water and start following my zigzag course again. A thousand rooms pass and then another thousand. Nothing much changes util room eight thousand eighty-seven. At this point I come across a room with a mark on the passthrough between two rooms. The openings between rooms are six inches thick and as I get close, I can see what looks like a small arrow written in ballpoint pen. It’s pointing off to the right of my planned course.
