Few months ago, during a Sunday long run (12km), I had my first hypo-running-crisis. I was not ready yet to manage this kind of emergency. Sugar bags I had in my pocket were clearly not sufficient. I even thought I would not been able to come back home and, I will be honest with you, I experienced a kind of panic.
It happened around the 11th kilometers of my run, or something like that, when I felt that sort of disproportionate difficulty to put one leg after the other. It was a kind of suffering not justified from the distance and from the pace I was keeping. I immediately understood the problem and I stopped. I ate sugar bags. I waited until the glucose entering in my cardiovascular system and, when I had the impression that it was the case, I tried to start again walking to keep on training.
As usual, I was convinced I could manage the hypoglycemia (my wife always tells me this is a very frequent phenomenal: I very often deny I am in a low sugar blood situation) and I started over running. But my legs seemed like heavy stones and I really could not keep continuing. So I gently walked towards home, also because I finished sugar and I did not bring any money to buy something sweet at the bar. Coming home seemed to me such a long trip (although the park is really 8 minutes walking from my place) that I really feared not to get home. I still can remember traffic, people, cars and the uncomfortable feeling that was walking next to me.
I remember my feet on the ground: they were literally crawling. I remember that but anything more about my way back home. Except the never-ending road in front of me. I remember my wife’s eyes when I finally entered our place: “What’s going on?! Why are you so pale?”. I remember the display of the blood sugar tester: 39 mg/dl. I remember the roasted chicken I ate. I remember baked potatoes. I remember I felt asleep immediately right after, completely out of energy.