It struck me today that, while running is an individual sport, our best performances still come with the help of others.
I was up well before dawn on the second consecutive Saturday for the Live Out Loud 5k and 10k, a memorial race for Janet Adducchio. Janet was a wife, mother and nurse who fell victim to thymic carcinoma earlier this year, and as with so many victims of the disease, she inspired those around her by her life and attitude before she passed. Her kids organized the race in her memory, to raise money for the Jack and Jill Late Stage Cancer Foundation.
10k races aren’t as prolific as the ubiquitous 5k, so while both distances were offered at this event, I chose to establish my 10k instead of trying to hammer my 5k time deeper under my goal for the year. I don’t race at the 10k distance much, so the pacing was going to be a little bit of a challenge to figure out, but I’ve been wanting to establish a PR at this distance for awhile now.
Crisp, clear fall air awakened me as I slipped out of the house at 6:45am, and a pleasant sunrise greeted us at the registration desk. Near the gazebo that housed registration, they had a chalkboard with the heading “BEFORE I DIE I WANT TO…” I looked at that board for a long time, trying to think what to write. A side effect of living life as emphatically as I do is that I don’t have much in the way of a bucket list. Don’t misunderstand, I have many, many things I want to do before I die, but I couldn’t come up with anything I must do before then, which is usually the point of these questions. They are meant to prompt introspection, to awaken the inner dreamer in all of us, and encourage us to go to the grave without regret. But I can say with all honesty that I am living life as fully as I am able, and if it ended tomorrow, I wouldn’t be unsatisfied by the experience.
I took my time warming up, careful to be gentle with my hips, which have been bothering me again for the last few weeks. I left my warm-up pants and hoodie on as long as I felt was prudent, and then headed down for the start. But the start was delayed for some time due to an issue with the timing company, and I had started to get cold again by the time they were finally ready. At last, the race director ordered all the 10k runners to the front, and then we were off!
I set what I felt was a conservative pace for the first mile, staying with the lead pack but not trying to get to the front of it. At a larger, more popular race, the faster runners would have left me immediately, but the smaller turnout for this inaugural event meant that most of the field was much closer to my level. A couple runners I had been chatting with at the start stretched off ahead of us, but there was a small group of about 6 of us giving chase, and I kept them in touch as my legs came in. That took longer than normal on this chilly morning, due in equal parts to the temperature and time between my warm up and the start.
Just after the first mile, I decided that the gap to the runners ahead of me was getting too large, so I dialed it up a bit. I wasn’t sure how much I should push, with so little experience at this distance, but I at least wanted to take advantage of a tow, if I could get one. I took my time catching the runner ahead of me, then hung around for the next mile, “resting” before trying my next push. My legs were feeling good now, but I still wasn’t sure just how fast I should be going, and we hadn’t yet reached the turn-around at the half way point.
A small cluster of runners had formed now. I had pulled myself up to two guys who were chasing a girl with impossibly long legs, and a couple guys behind me had towed themselves forward to me, in turn. I decided to make my next move at the turnaround, the half way point in the race, where I would at least be able to make an educated guess at the pace I could hold to the finish. The course angled south along Dye Mill Road, and then abruptly, there it was. Two guys stood next to a card table full of water cups and a cluster of cones, unmistakably a turnaround. It felt early, and everyone in our little group was a touch confused. I yelled ahead as I approached to ask if it was the turn for the 10k and they said it was, so I shrugged, pivoted around the cones, and headed back toward the finish.
I passed a couple people at this point and decided to put in a little push, to see if I could drop them and get out on my own. We did drop the girl, and one guy in a Tough Mudder shirt. But another guy, in a white shirt, stuck with me. The sun was at our backs as we strode northwest, and his shadow was always just behind mine. I could hear his footsteps, and every time I tried to push the throttle up, he responded and stuck with me. I just couldn’t break this guy! I knew, even as it was happening, that this was the best possible scenario. In a race distance that I haven’t practiced much, it was to my advantage to have someone pushing me, as I tend to be too conservative on my own.
When we reached the turnaround for the 5k, things got a little sporty! The 5k runners were already through, but a huge number of walkers were arriving just as we were, and the bike path suddenly got very narrow. I spent the next half mile engaged in an obstacle course of strollers and small groups of chatting friends, few of whom seemed to have noticed there was a race going on in the middle of their social event. To be fair, their entry fee supported the race’s charity the same as mine, but the other runners and I sure would have appreciated if they had tried to stay to one side of the path. “ON YOUR LEFT,” I called ahead of me whenever I could spare the breath. Most people got out of the way the best they could, but it was still a little dicey.
I quietly hoped that the traffic would allow me to slip away from my pursuer, but it just wasn’t to be. As the traffic thinned I checked over my shoulder and there he was, only a yard or two behind, with a determined pace that seemed to almost threaten me with its consistency. I pushed harder. My pace dropped into the 7:30s, and I gained a couple yards. The finish was nearly in sight now, just over a slight rise by a bridge. I made up my mind to drop the hammer as soon as I could see the finish arch, but I could still hear footsteps behind me. Was it just my imagination, or were there several sets, now? Was I going to get passed by a whole group just before the end?
We were at the bridge now, me and the mob I imagined was just behind me. I let loose, easing my speed up by increments, intentionally increasing the pace of my breathing to keep up with the demand. My pace dropped more, to 7:00, 6:30, 6:00 as I mentally pulled the finish line back to me. I was pulling back the lone runner in front of me as well, something I didn’t at all expect, as he had been out of reach for the whole race. He was kicking to the finish, but I was kicking harder, and the gap was closing fast. The carrot of beating one more person was fuel on the fire and I was at a dead run, every muscle and fiber straining with whatever power it had left. We flashed across the line, the man with the wild, gray hair and I, side by side and breathless. I thought I had got him, but only just!
I was elated. The post-race endorphin rush hasn’t been that strong for me in a long time, and the euphoria had me laughing before I had even caught my breath. I shook hands with my two close competitors, who had pushed and pulled me along, without a word, for the whole race. My GPS revealed that the course was indeed short by nearly a mile, but no matter. That was a race the way races are meant to be, and the minor detail of not establishing a proper PR took nothing away from the experience.
I stuck around for the awards, hoping that the results would be posted and I could see how I had done. But they were only going to announce the male and female overall winners for both races, so I wandered over to the snack table and started munching on a couple granola bars while I listened. When they got to the Men’s 10k, I was surprised that the third place finisher was a kid I had passed, and who I was fairly sure hadn’t passed me back. Then they called my name! I had finished second overall, which was a complete surprise to me, even having as good of a race as I did! I got my medal and stood next to the third place finisher as they announced the winner, the man with the wild gray hair, who had just held on at the line to beat me by less a tenth of a second. Less than a tenth!
It would be easy to be mad about being beat by so small a margin, but I felt enormously lucky just to have done as well as I had. The two runners who had gapped the field at the start had run right past the turnaround, ending up in Tipp City before they figured out something was wrong! So I had been gifted at least one place already, and I knew I owed my performance to other runners, anyway. Without them to pull and push me forward, forcing me to run harder than I ever do by myself, I would have been nowhere near as fast.
A coach and a group of like-minded people at a running club make fast feel easy. A stranger with a sign on the side of the road cheers you on, giving you just that little push you needed to keep going. A random stranger pushes and pulls you through an entire race, shakes your hand at the finish, and you go your separate ways. Running illustrates our dependence on each other in ways not unlike the rest of life, often in beautiful and deeply meaningful ways. When people ask me why I run, or how I’ve improved so much over the past couple years, I often find myself struggling to give the individualistic answer I think they’re looking for. Today reminded me that it’s because it was never just about me in the first place.
