I used to get a semblance of regular exercise by playing recreational ice hockey, but it’s been close to four years since I played regularly, and the bowling I’ve done just hasn’t filled that exercise void. Last summer I joined a gym and started working out about three times a week. You won’t see me on the cover of any fitness magazines, but the regular exercise is already paying dividends. My wife has exercised daily for as long as I’ve known her, and I have a sporadic record of accompanying her on long walks when the weather is nice enough. Recently, we added a new twist by mixing in some jogging with the walking, which is very unusual to me. I’ve never understood the running thing; I’m one of those people who generally only runs if being chased or chasing something, which doesn’t come up often in my day-to-day life. Jogging with my wife turned out not to be so bad, though, and led us both to make a very out-of-character decision: we decided to run in a local 5K last Sunday.
We arrived about an hour prior to the start of the 5K race, wanting to make sure we had enough time to get checked in, get warmed up, and get our goodie bags in case they were in short supply. The goodie bags included long sleeve t-shirts that were appreciated in light of the brisk mid-50’s whether which some runners found refreshing, but others confusing. After all, how are you supposed to stay warm while waiting for the race to begin, but without wearing layers you’ll quickly regret if you race in them, all without using up the energy you’ve been carefully acquiring and conserving in the preceding weeks just for this occasion? Such are the questions that concern first-time racers like my wife and me.
Checking in took about thirty seconds, so that left us with about fifty-nine minutes and thirty seconds to fill before race time. We filled it with a few trips to the car to drop off our goodie bags and to put on and take off various articles of clothing to deal with the confusing mid-50’s conditions, and walked around a lot to get warm without getting tired. With about ten minutes to go until the start, we visited the car to drop off everything we didn’t plan to wear while running, and headed for the starting line.
At the starting line, I expressed my excitement to my wife about running in our first race, and asked if she was excited, too. She said she was feeling mellow, which I chose to interpret as an excited kind of mellow, just so I wouldn’t feel like the only doofus in the crowd. Surveying the people who looked like they did this sort of thing often, I saw most of them stretching, so I kept myself occupied with a few doofus stretches of my own while my wife took a few steps away so as not to have her bubble of mellowness pierced by my pre-race preparations.
When the one-minute warning was given, I confirmed with my wife our humble goal for the day: to cross the finish line running. Running the entire distance would be a bonus, but not a goal, but aiming to run for at least the last hundred yards or so seemed reasonable and eminently achievable for runners of our experience and modest training regimen, which generally consists of a few long walks per week, punctuated by occasional periods of jogging. She concurred with the plan and soon after, the starting siren blared.
We started out at the back of the front, and within a couple minutes of the start were out of sight of the front, and barely withing sight of the back of the middle. We weren’t there to compete, though, so we settled into a pace we could handle together and kept running. Even though it was a 5K, the distance markers were in miles for non-metric user friendliness, and from the metric conversion I’d done before the race, I knew we’d be running approximately 3.1 miles. When I felt like we’d run about two miles, we finally passed the “1 mile” marker, and soon after I could hear the jangle of dog tags getting closer behind us. Keeping my eyes forward, I briefly enjoyed the fantasy that we had so far outpaced a dog-tag-wearing soldier out for a weekend run, but within a couple minutes we were passed by a panting golden retriever and her not-panting owner. I didn’t get the owner’s name, but let’s call her “Granny”.
As Granny passed, she expressed the hope that there was a water station coming up soon so her dog could have a drink, and we reassured her that we’d heard there would be one at the halfway point where racers turned around. She informed us this was Goldie’s (guessing at the name again) first race, too, but that it was already her (Granny’s) second race of the day. (Showoff.) Team Goldie beat us to the turnaround marker with room to spare, but we passed them and gained some ground as Goldie took time to slurp up some water and have a potty break.
Just like in races I’ve seen on tv, but with less fanfare, there were some race volunteers holding out cups of water just before the turn around point, which was conveniently marked by a trash barrel to deposit empty water cups in. Faster runners apparently don’t finish their water in time to use the trash barrel, because littered cups lined the side of the road several yards beyond the turn. (My wife and I had ample time to finish the water and still avoid being litterbugs.) It was very easy to grab some water, because there were a dozen or more cups in the outstretched hands of helpful volunteers making encouraging noises as we passed, but no other pesky runners nearby to interfere with the hand-off. (It’s possible I managed to splash a volunteer anyway, but he took it in stride even if I didn’t.)
With the water station behind us, we kept tramping on, comforted by the knowledge that we had made it past the halfway point. The course was mostly flat, but it was after the turn that we realized we had failed to appreciate some of the actual downhill portions, which now stood out as the uphill portions for the return leg. There were no really challenging grades, but any uphill grade felt like a challenge to us.
I’m not in better shape than my wife, but I do have a longer stride, so as we reduced the pace to something we could both maintain without walking, I avoided walking by adjusting my form to something that was half walking, half jogging, but still ninety-two percent tiring. My regular stream of wisecracking to my wife slowed to a trickle as I focused on the more important priority of breathing. With about a mile to go (and the race’s winners probably driving home already), the familiar jangle of dog tags approached from behind. Before long, the familiar rear ends of Goldie and Granny were streching out their leads in front of us.
Over the final few hundred yards…err, meters…we were still close enough to Team Goldie to see and hear them receiving scattered applause from the volunteers and onlookers who were there to encourage people over the final portion of the course and to make sure they didn’t make a wrong turn. Not wanting my wife and I to think they cared less about us than Team Goldie, we got some of that you’re-so-slow-but-we-still-love-you applause, too, and I expressed my appreciation by raising my hands in mock triumph. My wife expressed her appreciation in a much less doofus-like manner, simply smiling as we passed. I didn’t hear scattered applause behind us, so either the cheering volunteers had run out of encouragement, or we’d left all the remaining competitors so far back in our dust that we couldn’t even hear the cheering by the time they caught up to the encouragment stations.
The finish line finally drew into sight, with a rather pretentious clock displaying the ticking minutes and seconds for all to see. With a couple hundred feet to go, my wife and I conferred about which side of the road we were supposed to finish on, not wanting to miss the finish line in our first race, and spotted the columns of cones there to funnel runners to the finish. As we entered the funnel, I saw we were close enough that with a final surge, we could probably beat the breath-defying finish time of 35:00, so I panted to my wife, “Let’s beat thirty-five minutes!” and we crossed the line together at 34:59. The race officials, mesmerized by my wife’s beauty, ruled that she crossed the line first, so even though we both know we tied, it looked like she beat me in the official results. More importantly, we not only crossed the line running, but we never slowed to a walk the whole time. We may have gone as slow as a walk, but we never slowed to a walk.
As world class running goes, our 5K performance was an embarrassment to the sport, but for a couple in their late mid-30’s both running in their first-ever organized event, we finished satisfied and proud. We stuck around long enough to to stretch and avoid cramping and to get our breath back, and then headed to our car to drive home so we could call our families and brag about the race we just finished. We didn’t stick around for the trophy presentations, but I think there’s a good chance our time was good enough for second place in the Golden Retriever, Age 8-12 Division.
