I hate racing.
Let me rephrase that. I hate racism, ignorance, poverty, diseases and war. I dislike racing. The early mornings, the stress, the other runners and the pain… who needs it?
Nevertheless, racing is the best way I know to gauge my fitness and with the marathon set for next Sunday, knowing if I’m in shape or not is a good thing. Plus, a decent run can do wonders for one’s confidence. In fact, I remember the 5-mile race a week before the ’98 Boston Marathon that sent my confidence soaring so high that I strutted around like a peacock for weeks.
Regardless, I have outgrown that arrogance, at least as far as running is concerned. These days I save my peacock struts for other things like good zingers in the press dining room. Since most people don’t know what a good 5k time is, what’s the point in acting like a jerk?
That doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to run well on Saturday. And after a 16:23.14 for sixth place in the Manheim Township 5k (or whatever it’s called) and first in the 30-to-39 age group by more than two minutes, I’m as good (relative term) as I thought I was.
If I don’t run between 2:36 and 2:39 next Sunday it’s my own damn fault.
Anyway, the thing I most dislike about racing is the fact that I can’t remember a single race that I have ever run where I didn’t want to quit. In every single race there comes a time where I want to calmly step off the course, turn around and walk slowly back to my car. Once there, I get in, turn the key, drive away and never look back. It’s inevitable.
Fortunately, I have never done it. Good or bad, I have finished every race, though there was the one time in 1998 where the cramps were so crippling that I stopped running and walked/jogged it back in while feeling sorry for myself the entire time.
You know, because that 12k was just so important.
On Saturday that feeling came less than a mile into the race, but only because it looked as if I passed a convenient place to stop. After all, I reasoned, my car was nearby and I could always blame my achy hamstring since I had been complaining about it most of the morning. When my wife asked me how I felt before the race, I said, "My stomach feels OK, but my hamstring is a little achy... "
When talking to local running legend Mark Amway at the starting line about how we felt, I mentioned that my hamstrings were older than my age.
"If only there were such a thing as hamstring transplants," I joked.
Wait... is there such a thing? Can I get two new ones, please?
Regardless, it’s always good to have a built in excuse.
But once the gun sounded to start the race, my hamstring didn’t hurt. I wasn’t injured and the pace didn’t feel too tremendously taxing. Actually, the 5:20ish pace through the first mile was pretty comfortable. Just like the 10:40ish split through two miles. The problem was that I just didn’t have one extra gear to catch the leaders, who remained in sight the entire race but were probably averaging 5-minutes per mile compared to my 5:17. Perhaps when the marathon training is completed and I start to race a few 5k and 10ks, I will be able to catch them.
Wait… did I just say I was going to start racing?
Well, that’s the plan. After next week’s marathon I’m going to pare down the training a bit and see if I can run some fast times in other distances. Then, when January rolls around, I’ll start thinking about another marathon for the spring.
That’s the plan, anyway.
Back to the race – the course was flat and on the roads around the township’s golf course, pool, dog park, skate park and roller-skating barn. The area is wide open -- as golf courses are wont to be – and a loop course, which led me to believe that the wind was going to be a factor. But despite the temperatures in the high 30s, the wind didn’t really bother me. Oh sure, I wore gloves, a headband and a Nike compression shirt (you know, to show off my 4-pack), but after working up a lather during my 30-minute warm up, I was comfortable. When the breeze licked my face on the way back just about halfway through, it actually felt kind of refreshing.
It was also refreshing not to be out in no-man’s land, too. Though the top two finishers were unreachable, I ran in a pack of four or five runners strung out over five seconds from front to back. That fact helped carry me through after my initial desire to quit. It also got me from the second mile to the finish line in 5:43.
I didn’t glance at my watch at all, though, and had no idea how fast or slow I was going until the clock at the finish line came into view. With a modest goal of running better than 17 minutes, I felt very satisfied when the clock showed 15:30 with a little less than a quarter-mile to go.
Better yet, it was even more satisfying to see my wife and son cheering from the sidelines as I brought it home. My wife appeared just as pleased with the finishing time, while my son was just happy to see his daddy.
“Are you alright?” he asked afterwards.
“Yes I am, big boy.”
Running nugget
The New Yorkers are gearing up for tomorrow’s big race and seem to be excited about the strong American field. John Brant, author of the appeasing A Duel in the Sun about Alberto Salazar and Dick Beardsley’s race in the 1982 Boston Marathon, examines the prospects for an American breakthrough.
Speaking of running books, I’m reading A Clear, Cold Day, which is a biography of marathon trailblazer Buddy Edelen. A lawyer named Frank Murphy wrote it, and, frankly, he writes like a lawyer. It’s a good book for people who want to read about training methods and racing in the days before the running boom, but it’s a bad book for people who like good writing.