The Race

I have run a lot of races over the course of my life, but there are three that really stand out. The first was a race I actually won in high school. It would be the only time I came in first and to this day I can remember leaping into the air with excitement after crossing the finish line. Then in 1982, I ran the San Francisco Marathon. There was no leaping after the finish of that one. After 26.2 miles I could barely walk but finishing that race gave me an incredible feeling of accomplishment. But it’s a more recent race that just might be my favorite.

In the spring of 2013, my then 17-year-old son announced his intention to run his first 10K race. He’d been running since middle school and was in terrific shape so there was nothing to worry about there. The worry came later when he suggested I run it as well. I too have been running since middle school, but in kind of an off and on way. Unfortunately, at the time it was more off than on, and I was not in terrific shape. But I was getting there.

It started at the beginning of the year when I’d broken down and purchased a digital scale. The difference between the old analog scale and the new digital one was both dramatic and horrifying. The digital scale was more like the scale at the doctor’s office in that it was accurate (thus the horror). “Somehow” I was now the heaviest I’d ever been. Of course in reality there was no “somehow” as I knew exactly how it had happened. It was the usual combination of an increasingly poor diet and little to no exercise that led to me being in the worst shape of my life.

Along the way, there’d been plenty of warning signs that I’d chosen to ignore. Clothes that used to fit fine were now a bit tight (okay, really tight) and the waist size on my pants was headed in the wrong direction. There were times when I answered the phone that whoever called would ask if I’d just been running as I apparently sounded out of breath. Not only had I not been running, but I hadn’t even left my desk. And once, while helping my son’s baseball coach carry some equipment, I must have been breathing rather heavily because he turned to ask if I was okay. There’d been other warning signs too, such as the mirror, but it was the scale that finally spurred me into action.

Some years back, I’d had some success with Weight Watchers. But this time I wanted more than just weight loss, I wanted to get into shape. What I needed to do was return to running. Since this had been a particularly long stretch of inactivity, I knew I’d be starting very slowly. In my younger days, no matter how long I’d been away from running, I could always start with a three-mile run. Now the goal was to build up to three miles. To get there, unlike in my younger days, I got an App. There is an App for everything and there are several that promise to get you from the couch to a 5K run in 8 short weeks. The one I chose called for me to run only four days a week. In the beginning, there was by design, a lot of walking. But gradually, the App decreases the time walking and simultaneously increases the time running. In the past, I’d always been self-trained. I was a little apprehensive about letting my phone do the coaching but I figured I had nothing to lose (except weight).

In addition to the running, I changed my diet. There were no absolutes. I didn’t think it was realistic to never eat pizza again. But I did try to stick with protein and a vegetable for dinner with only a protein shake for lunch. And little by little, the pounds came off. It turns out that making better food choices combined with moving more really works. If word of this ever gets out…

At the end of eight weeks, I successfully ran three miles, just as the App had promised. And that’s when the idea of the 10K race, which is 6.2 miles, was hatched. Naturally there is an App for that too. But I found it much harder to stick to and as the race date got closer, my level of self-doubt increased. But with a lot of encouragement from the 17-year-old, I kept at it. The week before the race, I managed to run all of five miles. Surely I thought, I could slog through another mile. But could I really?

Finally the race day arrived. The race was in a town on the Connecticut shoreline and was set to go off at 6pm. We couldn’t have asked for better weather. It was warm but not hot with the gentlest of breezes coming in off the water. At the start, I’d insisted the 17-year-old go on ahead of me and within minutes he was gone.

The first mile went by quickly and I was actually running faster than I’d planned. This is not necessarily a good thing. For me, a fast start often leads to a slow finish. A very slow finish. Despite knowing that, I kept up the pace and finished the second mile at the same pace as the first.

The race-course is an out and back design. This means the slower runners (like me) who are still on the way out, cross paths with the faster runners (like the 17 year-old) who are on the way back. I was still sailing along when the 17-year-old ran by. He was running effortlessly as usual. We shouted words of encouragement and continued on.

After I passed the halfway point, the effects of starting too quickly began to show.

The fourth mile was much slower than the first three and for the first time, I began to worry. Although my pace continued to slow down, I managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other and before I knew it, I’d gone five miles.

I had one more to go and I was pretty sure I could make it. I was also pretty sure I was barely moving as I was passed by what seemed like thousands of runners. At the six mile mark, as I jogged slowly past a race volunteer, I must have looked horrible because she asked, “Are you okay sir?” I laughed and told her I’d make it.

Two tenths of a mile later, the 17-year-old was there to greet me and he urged me to sprint to the finish. “I am sprinting,” I said, as I shuffled over the line. Just as they were after the marathon, my legs were shot. But also like the marathon, I felt great.

The 17-year-old, who’d finished in sixteenth place, fifteen minutes before me, was elated too. It was one of those shared experience things that neither of us will ever forget. Despite the fact that I’d finished 173rd out of 217 runners, because I’d started from barely being able to run, and because we’d done it together, it was now one of the best races I’d ever had. Later, as we celebrated over dinner, we agreed to run the race again the following year.

I’m happy to report that in 2014, we did indeed run the race again. I’m even happier to report that, while the 17-year-old (who was now 18), ran five minutes slower than he had the year before, I ran five minutes faster. Maybe one of these times I’ll beat him. But even if that were to happen (it won’t), I still don’t think that race will make it into my top three.