Yo!

So I watched Rocky Balboa last night. My brother who is 40 told me it was great movie that touched him. When I rented the movie I was working the ambulance with a twenty-two year old kid who said the movie was stupid. Well, I liked it. I grew up on Rocky, enjoyed Rocky II, and would just as soon that Stallone didn’t make the other Rockys after that, which I think he probably feels the same about. The first Rocky and this one were good because even if they were sentimental, Stallone is writing what he believes to be true and that comes out. Rocky Balboa is a movie for people who are getting older, who may have seen their better days, but aren’t ready to go gently. He has a line about it isn’t how hard you hit, it's how you get up after getting hit hard. I’m not claiming that I’ve been decked, but I’ve had my days were I have felt beat down. Unlike my brother, I didn’t quite get misty-eyed, but I was moved. (I liked Rocky talking with the single mom, trying to be true to his late Adrian, but also show affection and kindness.) Like my brother I also enjoyed the ending where they show clips of common people running up the stairs of the Philadelphia Art Museum. But the significant part for me was in the end when Rocky walks out of the ring not even waiting for the announcement of whether he won or not because for him, it wasn’t about winning or losing the actual fight, it was about getting in the ring and giving it his best – that was the victory – the journey. And the older you get the more you appreciate that – the doing is what counts, not so much the getting there.

But today – I did and I got there, too! Crossed the finish line! Here’s how it went down.
I actually slept pretty well last night, so much so that when my alarm went off, I reset it to sleep another half hour because I was comfortable and in no rush. Once I got up, I had a banana and made myself a protein shake to drink on the ride to the race. I weighed myself – 221.4, put on my heart rate monitor, put on my underarmor tee-shirt, my gray hoodie, a pair of shorts, some sweats, and put a new pair of no-friction running socks that I had bought when I bought my sneakers a couple months back. Before I put the socks on I put on a blister protector on the middle toe of my left foot where I got a blood blister from running with my gel soles upside down. (It is doing fine, I just put the protector on just in case.) I brought along a work turtleneck, my black wool cap and my gloves.

It was about a thirty minute drive to the race area up by Bradley Field. The name of the race is the Bradley International Road race. I’ve been thinking that this race is no sissy 5K because it is an International Road Race, but only when I reached the parking area did it occur to me that the International goes with Bradley International Airport and not with Road Race. When I reached the parking area, the thermometer in my car read 28 degrees. I got out and walked a half mile or so to the registration area where I was given #12 – a good sign, along with my free tee-shirt, which I did not even look at because you have to earn the tee-shirt to wear it. If I don’t finish the race, I can’t wear the shirt, so without looking at it, I walk back to my car, and toss it in the back seat. I sit there running the engine for awhile, but then I feel the urge to use the bathroom, and fearing lengthy lines, get back out in the cold after first putting the turtleneck on over my underarmor.

The bathroom line goes quick and I am now good to go – no fear of what happens sometimes when I am running at the track, getting a slight urge in the middle of my workout.

People are warming up by jogging – some of them are jogging about as fast as I sprint. I resolve to do nothing faster than a walk. I want to conserve my running for when it actually counts. I hear people talking about Boston, half-marathons, the race last week. It seems a pretty serious crowd. I don’t see any women with baby strollers, no walkers either.

I pace about for awhile. Then someone calls my name and I see a woman who used to work with me. She is there with her boyfriend. He’s running the 10k, she’s running the 5K. It’s her second race, but she has been running for many years. The race is a little slow getting going because for some reason there are a couple cars on the road. The race course runs along the north perimeter of the airport. I’ve seen a couple jets take off right over the fence. We're just standing there talking when suddenly the announcer says, ready set, go! I’m about twenty-five yards from the line and have to wait for a bunch of people to go by before I can even step on the road. My friend calls on me to join them, but I just shake my head. I have already told her I expect to be near the rear.

I am surprised by the slow early pace, but then I look ahead and see in fact there are many people who have sprinted out and are quite far ahead. I’m just in the pack. I’m not certain how fast I am going, but I am breathing through my mouth, which isn’t that unusual – that’s how I breath when I run. I don’t think I get enough air through my nose to sustain myself.

The first half mile goes by in no time. I notice a little kid ahead of me, and say to myself that I am going to beat him.

I slowly pick up my pace so I am just about up to him as we near the mile marker.

But then he takes off like a jack rabbit and that’s the last I see of him.

At the mile mark, I glance at my watch. Since the start caught me by surprise, I don’t have an accurate start time. I don’t know how to set the stop watch part of my watch, so I usually just go off the digital clock. But when we started all I saw was the hour and minute numbers -- 8:41, not the second numbers. It's now 8:51. Ten minutes have elapsed, but I don’t know whether it is nine minutes and one second or ten minutes and fifty-nine seconds. I had considered not even looking at my watch. I do want to check my heart rate and it is 164 so I figure I am on a ten minute pace – a little faster that I may be able to sustain.

It is not long before I look up and see the leader sprinting back the other way. The dude is moving. He has a huge lead over the next runner, who is also running at what I might call a sprint pace.

The road starts to go uphill now and for the first time people are starting to pass me. I am still running, but for the first time I have to slow, my steps become shorter. I glance at my heart rate monitor – 179. I haven’t broken 169 before. I guess I know what my maximum heart rate is now. I don’t feel too bad. My legs don’t hurt, I just don’t feel like I can go too fast and sustain it.

I see my friend coming back the other way, and am cheered that I am close to the turn around. I loop around the orange traffic cone and head back. I glance at my watch again and seem to still be on the ten minute pace.

I move up on a girl who is reaching for her inhaler. I pass her when she stops and puts her hands on her knees, before taking a big puff.

The run back seems longer than the race out. The two mile mark seems to take forever to reach – the same with the two and a half. I’m thinking too bad this isn’t a two mile race. A couple people from behind pass me. I don’t want to look back to see no one behind me. So I don’t look back.

I am getting hot. The sun is up now and my underarmor is probably frying me. I take off my gloves and put them in my pocket and then take my cap off for a minute to let some heat off before putting it back on. I do manage to pass one runner. Then asthma girl sprints by me. Then two more runners. Each runner that goes by me I am glancing at their numbers to see if they are from the 10K race. My fear is I will be reaching the finish line at the same time as the 10k front-runners, but they are all 5kers.

When I cross the two and a half mark, I know I will cruise in. It's just a glory run now.

Just as I approach the three mile mark, a woman in her forties rushes past me, she stumbles as she passes, almost falling. I am little annoyed by it because I could sprint too. This is just a move to pass me before the finish line. I remember reading how sprinting at the end of one of these races is uncool, and I can see why. I let her go.

A man stands on the side of the road reading off the runner’s numbers. As I pass him, I hear my name being announced over the speakers. People cheer. I cross the line and slow to a walk. A woman at the end of the chute, tears the bottom part of my number off that has my bar code. I made it. I feel pretty good considering. My heart rate was around 174 when I last checked on the course. Two minutes after the race, it is in the 130’s as I walk around on the grass in the waiting area. I have no pain in my legs. I didn’t have to spit at all while I was on the course – I saw lots of gobs of sputum along the way, but I do cough some, and for a moment think I might puke, but it passes. I grab a bottled water and pound it down.

There are a number of 5kers who finish after me. About four minutes after I finish the first 10K runner crosses. I see my friend and chat with her for a little while as she waits for her boyfriend. Then I get another water, an orange slice and a half a bagel and head back to my car.

I have to say, on the one hand I am pleased I finished the race. No small accomplishment for a non-runner, but it wasn’t that easy, so on the other hand, thinking of the triathlon, running a 5K after a swim and a long bike ride, that seems like it will bit a bit of a challenge. I have some serious work to do -- like learning how to ride a bike.

Now, in the late afternoon, I do feel pooped and a little stiff, but pain-free. I’m going to have some roast pork tonight, at least one cold beer and I may take a dip in the hot tub.

Overall I must say, “Yo! I Rock!”

Race Results

Time of 31:15
10:05/mile Pace.