I had no expectations of myself coming into this race – none. Sunday’s run would be my third of the year. No, not my third race; my third run. For a few months I’ve been nursing an aggravated hip that comes and goes. In addition, I have been working hard on growing my fledgling personal training business. The only real exercise I had done in the past two weeks has been 4 minute tabata burpees between dropping off Katie and Brooke off at school during the school week.
That. Is. It.
So, like I said, I had no expectations of how I was going to do or feel after 3.1 miles this past Sunday.
That being the case, I decided that I shouldn’t position myself at the very front of the pack at the start of the race, opting instead to start several yards behind the front-runners. After a wonderful rendition of the Star Spangled Banner by the race director’s daughter, the starting horn blared and we were off.
A small pack of about twenty to twenty five runners immediately separated themselves from the masses. I had to make a snap decision to either follow and run hard or stay back and enjoy the scenery. I focused on my hip for two or three steps, trying to anticipate whether it could handle a hard effort.
No real pain – check!
I decided to chase the group.
I had left my phone in the car and my GPS watch is on the fritz, so I had no idea just how fast I was going, and with a downhill start I really was not in a position to judge pace. Over the first half mile, the jack rabbits began to shake out – I was now sitting somewhere around 16th or 17th.
We began a short uphill climb. This is where I made my first move – I tend to push the hills a bit; I find it’s a great way to reel people in. I caught up to a group of 3 or 4 runner and passed them on the inside. As we hit the mile marker I took a quick glance at my watch before setting my sights on a few runners ahead of me.
7:25.
Okay, not a bad pace for someone who has been struggling with their running for the last few months. My hip was fine, but my glutes and quads were already burning, as were my lungs. I tried to ignore the pain and pressed on.
As I began to pick off runners one by one, I looked way down the road. I could barely see the leaders. I counted back.
1…2…3…
4, 5, 6…
7…8…9th!
I was running 9th with about 1.8 miles to go.
That’s when I heard the footsteps. They were slowly getting louder and louder.
Thump, thump! Thump, thump!
Without turning I yelled, “which side are passing me on?”
I couldn’t make out what he said.
Thump, thump! Thump, thump!
His footsteps got louder. I couldn’t tell how far behind he was, but it felt like he was right on my tail and gaining. I slid to the left, encouraging him to pass me by.
“It’s all you, man!” I said.
Thump, thump! Thump, thump!
If he said something, I didn’t hear it. Surprisingly, he didn’t pass me.
The two of us passed the guy running in 8th.
His footsteps continued to push me as I, I hope, pulled him.
Thump, thump! Thump, thump!
My legs and lungs were burning. I glanced down at my watch.
14:30.
14:30? I had thought we were going faster but the mile 2 marker was nowhere in sight. Was it possible the I had slowed down that significantly? Were we that far from 2 miles that it wasn’t in sight? Nearly a minute later I spotted a sign that looked like a marker. I looked at my watch.
15:15, 15:16, 15:17…
What in the world???
As we got closer, I noticed that the mile marker said 2.2 miles – 15:35…we had averaged 6:54 for that 1.2 miles.
Okay…now I get it!
I was encouraged by the fact that we only had 0.9 miles to go. Though I wouldn’t admit it beforehand, I was hoping to break 24:00 that day. I was sure I had that in hand, but knowing I had less than a mile to go, I decided to push it for all I had.
Thump, thump! Thump, thump!
“Footsteps” was still behind me. I was sure he was going to pass me at any time now as we approached the finish. He had been shadowing me for a bulk of the race, biding his time. I was not looking forward to the finish. I remembered from the previous year that the Leprechaun 5K ends with the last third to half mile uphill and as much as I enjoy catching people on hills, I hate finishing races on hills.
“Footsteps” began to fade…I yelled back encouragement, trying to egg him on, but his footstep continued to fade. As I hit the 3 mile marker, I let myself enjoy the fact that I was going to comfortably finish in 8th. The woman in 7th simply had too big of a lead on me and there was no way I was going to catch her, but “Footsteps” had been vanquished.
“Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump!!!”
These footsteps sounded different.
Faster.
Lighter.
…Younger.
In a flash my joy evaporated as a kid went flying by on my left.
No. Way! I tried to hit the next gear – I wasn’t going to give up my spot without a fight to this kid.
I dropped the hammer and pushed…
…and kept going at the speed I had been cruising along in. The kid flew past me like I was standing still.
Sigh.
I crossed the finish line in 22:02, covering the last 0.9 miles in 7:10 pace for an overall pace of about 7:06 – good enough for a 9th place finish.
I stumbled up to the kid.
“Were you the footsteps behind me,” I asked confused. He looked confused as well. I turned to see “Footsteps” finishing. I turned back to the kid. Obviously he had started further back and finished strong.
“How old are you, kid? 16? 17?” I asked.
“I’m 13,” he said with a grin. I shook my head. Crap! Taken out like I was standing still by a boy the age of my daughter. I knew that this day would eventually come – I just didn’t expect it to happen at 13.
13!!!
I gave him a pat on the back and went to chat with “Footsteps”. We thanked each other for pushing/pulling the other along.
In the end, despite being taken down by a 13 year old, I was pretty happy with my performance. It was nowhere near my best in a 5K, but it was pretty darn satisfying to finish in the top 10 out of 200+ runners. It did make me realize though that I have a long way to go to get back into marathon shape.
Hope you all had a fantastic weekend!
Happy St. Paddy’s Day!
Holy moly. Great job, Luau.