BACK IN THE RUNNING

     I had one thought as I walked to the beginning of the 5K race at Roosevelt Island this morning...don't get too close to the start. ALL the runners up there will be WAY too fast for me.

     It was my first race in 9 months. A physical issue had played havoc with my life since September, depressing, difficult, uncomfortable...and really screwed up my running! Now I'd only been back at it for 6 weeks...no speed work, nothing long, nothing too hard. Was I ready to race? Not really. But it was exciting to be there to try!

     So I searched for the right spot to line up, knowing that I intended to run (if I was up to it) at an 8:30 per mile pace. I walked beyond the front row right at the starting mark, and a bunch more rows beyond that. Finally I came to a group of racers all wearing head phones and heavy looking t shirts. A few others were wearing costumes. "I'm not going behind these people," I thought. "I'm out of training but at least I look like a runner!" I settled in in front of them. And waited.

     Soon the horn sounded and we were off, running south along the Queens side of the island. I found a comfortable pace that felt sustainable and stuck with it even as hordes (it seemed) of people passed me, including some with the heavy looking t shirts. None of the costumed characters did, though, so I didn't feel embarrassed into speeding up. About a third of a mile in to the 3.1 mile race and we turned right, then, quickly, right again. Now we were running uptown along the Manhattan edge.

     Only a few racers were passing me by and they all looked young and athletic and must have arrived late and started near the back of the pack. I wasn't bothered by them. I felt fairly comfortable and was looking for the 1 mile marker. Soon it was there and I looked at my watch...7:56! A minute faster than ANYTHING I'd run in training and way faster than my intended pace. Too fast. Unsustainable. I came upon a sharply descending ramp and flew down it. Wow! Speedy. "Maybe I could keep this up," I thought. "Maybe I could run this pace for just 2 more miles...." Fortunately reality intruded. NO WAY. If I tried I'd throw myself into oxygen deprivation and have a miserable time before the end. Would probably hurt so much I'd end up walking, an absolute disgrace in the shortest of all middle distance races. How would that sound on facebook?

     I slowed down. Good thing I did. As I passed the water station just beyond the race's half way point I felt myself involuntarily slow further. I was pooped! Suddenly I began thinking that maybe this was all too much for me, that I'd never be able to sustain even this reduced pace and that I'd squander my first, fast mile. "Where is that damn second mile marker," I thought, even as I knew the answer as I'd run this course before. It's at the spot where we cross back to the Queens side of Roosevelt Island and head south to the finish. I came to it and fearfully looked at my watch. With all the slowing I'd done the time could be bad. It wasn't...8:36.

     Two miles down and still ahead of my goal pace. But slowing by 40 seconds from mile 1 to mile 2 was not good. If that happened on mile 3 it would ruin everything. I needed to at least maintain the speed I was running at. But now I was exhausted and uncomfortable and the wind, which I'd never felt at my back, was now in my face. I thought of walking. REALLY terrible to do that so close to the finish. So instead I played a game. Run to the next landmark and then we'll see. Then go on to the next landmark. And so I kept pace to the next bench, to the next tree, to the place where the sun stopped and the shade began, to where, the shade ended and the sun resumed. I was lost in my game, barely noticing that no one was passing me, till, suddenly, I felt someone on my left.

     I knew I couldn't hold him off so I just hoped that he wasn't in my age group. And, as he passed, I knew that he wasn't. Because he wasn't a he. He was a she A young she. And even my addled, oxygen deprived brain knew that a young she won't be in the men's 60 to 64 grouping.

     No one else passed me, but I did slow down a bit to stop hurting so much and then, feeling a bit better, picked up the pace again. Where was that damn 3 mile marker? Finally, it appeared and, passing it, I looked at my watch. For the first time in the race I actually hit my intended pace...8:30 on the button! Actually faster than mile 2! Just a tenth of a mile to go. My goal pace would've brought me in at 26:21. The clock wasn't even at 26. I tried picking it up and finishing before the minute hand had a chance to tick up. I couldn't. 26:02.

     Later I found that I'd won my age group as, sure enough, the young lady who'd beaten me at the end had not changed sexes or grown older. Doesn't matter. My age group, at least in this race, was pokey. More telling, I finished exactly in the middle of the 124 men and 80 of the 253 finishers. That wasn't bad.

     In fact this was by far the slowest 5k I've ever run. I've never run any race below a half marathon distance at a slower pace. And yet my last mile and a half here was SO hard fought, so in the competitive, athletic spirit, that I feel really good about it.

     And I guaranty, with consistent training, that young lady will not be going by me on mile 3!