Well, I ran my weekly 5k again yesterday, even though my legs felt horrid after a hilly run on Monday. The theme of yesterday's race was an age and gender weighted tag team event - each runner paired up with a teammate, and the winner is the one with the best combined time, handicapped for their age and gender groups. I didn't have a partner, but I didn't anticipate placing in the race, either, so it wasn't really an issue. But it was a little disconcerting when I got to the race, because it was a much larger crowd than I'd expected. It's hard to say if they've been getting this kind of crowd all year, because I've typically been getting to the start line after everybody's already long gone, but there were a few hundred people that ranged from 5 to 75 years old, with some "parent of the year" candidates entering their children into a road race sponsored by a bar that goes down an active highway.
At the start line, a large crowd is gathered around a guy with no microphone who seems to be yelling instructions to people about how to run the race and how it will be scored. As I pull closer to try to hear anything he's saying, he shouts, OK, let's get started! And everyone around me starts running, sending me staggering. I turn around and start running with them, only to jam on the brakes as everyone in front of me takes their position on the start line. Future race organizers, take note: Please don't yell "OK, let's get started" to a group of novice runners if you don't want them to, you know, get started.
The race takes off, and it's clearly amateur hour, with people cutting each other off, slowing down and speeding up and criss crossing without warning. There's a girl wearing a Wonder Woman outfit and what must have been her out of shape boyfriend in a full blue bodysuit that appeared to give more detail than support. Fortunately he was at least wearing a mask. They were the only ones in costume in the whole race. I hope for his sake that his friends never find those pictures.
I start out running a little faster than I should have, trying to work my way around the crowds, but using twice the energy to avoid the random kid who just stopped running or the walkers who were going upstream on the bike path where the race starts. The combination of the 85 degree racetime temperature and humidity and the body heat of a crowd of runners reminded me that I wasn't properly hydrated for the race at all. But just as I decide to settle into a more comfortable pace, I see her, the runner who broke a hundred hearts, wearing her tiny little something and an even tinier little something else. She didn't have the perfect body, but it was mesmerizing - tan and blonde and a little sweat and just enough left to the imagination. I hardly even noticed that she was flying by the group I was in, because as soon as she passed, everyone in the group sped up. And I'm not ashamed to admit that that includes me.
When we hit the hills, it became clear that I was overheating, but I knew that once I slowed down, she'd be gone, and so would any will I had left to run. Still, I'm more of downhill specialist than an uphill kind of guy, and I inevitably started to drop back as I was sucking wind. And I noticed a lot of the other guys in the group did, too, and that the group ahead of us started to pick right up just like we did. I've probably dropped to a ten minute mile pace at this point, maybe even worse, and I'm seriously considering walking. But I decided I'd rather jog for a while and cool way down then try to finish strong than walk for even a moment in a race this short, so I focused on heel toe, heel toe, and breathing.
Then the race destroyed what was left of my already fragile ego. I hear a father giving his kids instructions, and one of them says, excuse me, while another one yells out "on your left" at the top of his lungs. It's all I can do to pull over to the side to let them pass. And as I get to the next water station, a couple of septuagenarian runners pass me like white haired lightning, and as they pass me, I can hear them say, did you see that? We got passed by a couple kindegartners, and now we're back here with the fat guys and old men. Hey thanks, gramps, I can hear you you know.
I grab my water and jog to the finish line, willing to admit defeat. I have nothing left in the tank for a narrow final stretch that is peppered with inexperienced runners walking back upstream from the finish line. I'm preparing for my final sprint when I see the clock is over 28 minutes, and realize I just don't care anymore, so I did whatever the opposite of HTFU is, crossed the line, dropped off my number, and started working my way back to my car. On the way, I hear some people talking about the raffle at the bar that sponsors the event, so I decide to grab a bud light and check it out. There's a huge patio in the back, and there's Jogbra, grinning ear to ear, surrounded by a group of oglers and their angry girlfriends. They announce the raffle winners and I "win", which really means I got a couple of free running towels, whatever those are. They look like big washcloths and have no writing or logo on them whatsoever. But then something unexpected happened - they announced the people who set personal records. And it turns out that Jogbra and 46 other people all set personal records the same day. And the funny thing is, despite my terrible run, I was one of them, because my previous time was a late start.
So somehow, after getting passed by the AARP guys who got passed by the kindergartners who all passed me after I couldn't keep up with Jogbra, I walked home with a medal for running a terrible time. It's the kind of medal that goes on the bottom shelf of an empty trophy cabinet, but it's kind of cool nonetheless.