I must admit to sleeping poorly on Saturday night. Earlier in the day, I had dragged Don along to the Holden Arboretum where I was to pick up the registration materials for my first 5K. The informational package didn’t amount to much. A trail map, a T-shirt, a rectangle of white paper with a number and four safety pins. On Sunday morning, I was to become number 794.
I was fearful about the course. Up until now, my running had been confined to flat, black-top roads. Worse, I avoided all hills and often tended to pick a downhill stretch for my final mile. The next day’s race was to be run on dirt and gravel trails and might have uphill sections. Don and I tried in vain to follow the meandering course map but we were soon hopelessly lost. The arboretum trails crisscrossed between bogs, lakes and forests. Try as we might, we could not figure out where the race would be run. One thing was obvious. The terrain rose and fell. Some of the race would have to go uphill.
On Sunday morning I awoke a little later than I would have liked. It seemed like I’d been running all night. I had slept in short bursts, a series of sprints, and then had overslept the alarm. I ran around the house trying to make last minute decisions. Should I carry my cell phone? (An extra few ounces). Should I wear my headphones? (Better acoustics than ear buds, but heavy and a bit geeky looking). As Don and I drove to the arboretum I started to feel seriously nervous. So silly, I thought. If I can’t do it I can just stop and walk. But I found that I was frightened of other things. Really dumb things like not knowing how to check in, not being sure how to line up to start the race, not knowing whether my number went in front or in back.
Soon we were in the crowded parking lot and one of my questions was quickly answered. The number went in the front. Clumsily, I attached the 794 to my shirt.
Several hundred people were milling around. I was comforted by the fact that the serious runners were mixed with an equal number of people who seemed to be walkers. The runners were already jogging all around the starting area and were wearing mini-shorts and sleeveless shirts. The walkers were in long casual shorts and T-shirts. Everyone seemed very friendly but kind of serious. It was chilly. That wasn’t the only reason I was shivering.
Then, from over a small hill, I saw a familiar figure. Don’s junior partner, Greg, was strolling toward us. I smiled and relaxed for the first time. Greg is a serious runner so I hadn’t thought he’d be doing a 5K. Here was the perfect person to pepper with my dumb questions. Where did the run start? Did everyone start together? Were there separate groups? How would they figure out our times? I did not ask Greg if the course was hilly. It was too late for that now. I would find out soon enough.
Soon we saw all the participants heading toward the starting line. I had not stretched or even walked more than a few steps since leaving our car. As I thought about this and wondered if I should jog in place, a shrill bell sounded. This was it! I was completely unprepared. Everyone around me took off . My iPod wasn’t turned on and my headphones were still bouncing around my neck… I found myself drawn along at a much faster speed than I would normally run.
Around the first turn we went and immediately my fears were realized. A hill lay ahead. Up I went. My lungs burned and we were no more than a few tenths of a mile into the race. I fixed my eyes on a couple who were running together about 20 feet ahead of me. They seemed to be holding an easy pace and I determined to stay with them. We were soon descending through a rocky stretch which gave me time to catch my breath. It was exhilarating to imagine that I was actually running in a group. I tried to forget the fact that I was already hurting. My goal was not to walk. I could do it. The music that had accompanied me for the past nine weeks seemed to sparkle in these new surroundings. Caribbean soca, Rick James, disco. I realized I was smiling at my own discomfort.
We ran and ran for what seemed like an endless time. I tried to imagine where I would be at this point on my runs near home. Probably about mile two, I thought. I was probably headed into the home stretch. Several long minutes later, we rounded a curve and I saw a woman holding a large oaktag sign. Mile One! Another lady clicked something in her hand and shouted something at me. My time. Of course, I couldn’t hear her because I was listening to Smooth Criminal.
It was just the very start of mile two and I was feeling spent. My breathing was ragged from the hill climbing and my legs felt wobbly from the uneven surface. I tried to focus hard on my goal. No walking. Just then I started to notice something. The pack I had been running with had thinned. The fast runners were by now far ahead and the slow ones were way behind. I was running in a loose group of about 10 people and suddenly I realized that I was gaining on a number of them. A woman who I had been trailing for some minutes pulled up, put her hands on her hips and began to walk. I passed her. I also passed the couple who had been pacing me earlier. They too were walking. I saw a long downhill ahead and I tried to make the most of it. Running downhill had become easy for me during my practices. Soon I was running just behind a dark-haired woman of about 30. As we came out onto the flat, we approached the mile two marker. My goal had changed. I was going to try to go the final mile at the same pace as the woman with the black hair.
The final mile seemed endless. I had discovered during my training runs that knowing the end of the run was coming made it much harder to continue. Now I found myself checking my watch and looking for the finish line around every turn. I knew that the course ended with a short stretch on the road, but the road never appeared. At one point, it seemed that we were about to turn onto the asphalt, but we were directed to go the other way and sent on a long loop around a pond. That pond was a killer. The only time I’d ever felt my heart beating like that was the time my doctor sent me for a stress test. I decided to slow down and try to save something for the final sprint but I was already going so slowly that any less speed would have meant walking. I kind of hopped from foot to foot jogging blindly forward while sweat ran into my eyes.
But wait. The black-haired woman was walking! I lurched forward and passed her!! And just as I did, I saw the road ahead. The asphalt felt familiar and welcoming and a long downward slope headed toward the finish. I was so happy that I didn’t even care that the black-haired woman had started running again and sprinted past me a few yards from the shute. Falling through the finish, I pulled up gasping. Hands ripped off the bottom of my number, the part that would be kept to tally results. I couldn’t believe it! Just two months ago I could barely run for 60 seconds. I had wanted to be a runner and now…well, I kind of was.
Greg and Don met me at the finish line. We talked about the things runners discuss: the course, the pace. Stuff like that. Greg showed us the fancy watch he has that keeps track of his heart rate and times his runs. (He did the whole course in 22 minutes). Then there were the simple rewards for the runners: bananas, oranges, nuts, M&Ms and various drinks. We watched a few more people fall through the finish line and soon it was time to head home. Just like that. The results of the race wouldn’t be out for a day or so. And what would you do with them anyway? Just try to get better and faster according to Greg.
Still, it was beyond thrilling to pull up the race results tonight and find out that I had come in second in my age group. I had run the course in 32 minutes, which was about 5 minutes faster than my training times. That was progress! And something to build on.
And after we left the arboretum on Sunday, Don wondered whether we could stop at the New Balance store. We did and he bought a pair of running shoes. Tomorrow morning we’re going out at 6:30 am. He’s ready to move from couch to 5 K and I’m just the runner to show him how.
