The Pig hath arrived.
In my group of racers I was joined by Joseph, my fantastically fit
friend, and his daughter Kristyna, his genetic facsimile who in the sweet voice
of a ten-year-old's while possessing the articulation of a thirty-year-old. As we walked down Joe Nuxhall Way, we passed
the "Pig Pens", corrals of runners grouped by expected finishing
times.
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| The Project and the Pacesetter |
Passing Pens A, B, and C, I saw the exceedingly athletic and
the supremely fit. If Joseph and
Kristyna were to stand in the corrals indicative of their ability, they would
have surely left my side, but thankfully they were foot-to-foot-to-foot with me
in support. In Pen F (Expected finishing
time of 45 to 49 minutes), I felt as comfortable as a pig in mud.
I was amazed at the diversity all around me--big and slender,
young and old, the stiff jointed and the lithe--all happy to be there and
excited for the starting pistol. I
looked around and saw groups galore--student with their schools, military
veterans, people walking for the deaf, the blind, the disabled. Joseph pointed out a group of little old
nuns, dudded out in florescent green shirts and workout clothes. "I had better beat them," I
chuckled to Joseph. There was a great
casual feeling in the back corrals, where if someone had just a very little bit
of fitness they could have a very good deal of fun.
Bang! went the starter's pistol and everyone who had been joking
and funning about now faced the front with a new focus. The mass of racers all started to bear in one
direction. It felt like a march of troops
as we all took little measured steps, working our way, left on Second Street,
towards the starting line and out of our initial bunching. In just my second 5K, I still found it
surreal to be walking on a street I was traveling down, just yesterday, going
55 miles per hour!
If we had been cars, would have been going the wrong way on
Second, and then, descending the ramp, on Third Street. All along Second and Third Streets, onlookers
shouted cheers of encouragement and I, indeed, seemed to transfer the goodwill
into usable energy. For some reason--whether
it was because I was still warming up, not yet mentally fatigue enough to ignore
the physical feedback of work, or because I had to enter short bursts of running,
sometimes laterally, to avoid closely bunched racers while catching up with my
pace setter Joseph--I found the first third of the race unexpectedly difficult.
The further down Third we got the more the course opened up,
and knowing the race's biggest upward hill laid just ahead, I decided to open
up into a run. I felt fine for the
minute I was able to do, but Joseph cautioned me that I was on the balls of my
feet the whole time, thus explaining why I have been getting the blisters on my
feet. Sure enough, as we started our
ascent around Lytle Park, I felt the telltale tendering on the front of my foot
pads.
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Shocked Candid; or, Profile of a Startled Walker
|
The race's halfway point was marked in the park, and a
station of water and Gatorade provided a half moment's respite as the race
slowed down. Then it was back to
reality, back into the bunching. "It's
okay this time," I thought, as it gave me time to catch my breath. We were heading back downhill and, knowing
the course was leveling out, I started thinking about the finish.
Walk, Jog, Tire, Walk, was the pattern I exhibited as we
rounded Butler Street to Calvert. It
seemed like we were passing a lot of people--a lot of pretty girls, alas!--who when
passed tended to stayed "passed", as it were. As I trundled toward the home stretch,
looking towards Pete Rose Way, what did I see but an arc of little red
balls. A middle aged, skinny joker was
juggling while walking the race! If I
can't finish before the court jester that's pathetic,
I thought. Toss, toss, toss; short
little throws, fast towering ones, dropping not a ball. Hoots and hollers all around as everyone
seemed to love him, save for one red-faced curmudgeon. "...rear mirror. Goin' to put you in my rear mirror," I chanted
in thought. As I worked my way--pushing
myself with no though as to reserves--up to the silly man he, as if sensing a
palpably hostile energy nearby, caught all the balls with both shorts pockets,
showoff-like, and SPRINTS far, far, far into the distance. "Can't win 'em all," I think,
wheezing.
As the jogging juggler was undoubtedly crossing the finish
line, we turned onto Pete Rose Way, the final straight. It made sense to give it all you got, to leave
nothing on the course, to finish fast, finish strong; so Joseph and Kristyna
entered into a full jog, and I, with my stupid toe run, entered my fool
jog. "Markie ain't got much,"
I thought. "Gotta stop, can't stop,
gotta..."
The gotta's got it as I had
to stop--I was tired in my muscles, tired in my breath, tired in my
cognition. "Oof, what was that?"
I thought, as I felt a flutter of faintness.
Fading right before the finish line, I didn't want to be like the poor wobbly
legged fellows I've seen who crawled across the finish line. Fat guy
finishes Pig race on all fours--Oink!--That had devastatingly embarrassing
viral video written all over it.
Disappointed, I returned to my brisk walk, watching Joseph and Kristyna
put distance between us. "Aww,
don't look back, don't look back!" I pleaded, watching Joseph. Sure enough he looked back to check on me,
but instead of a look of disappointment to match how I felt, Joseph gave me an earnest
smile and words of encouragement. It
felt great.
So great I wanted to give it one last try, to cross the Finish Swine in a run. Feeling like a full grown boar bearing toward
the finish gate, I tried to strike the ground in straight, measured strides,
take deep breaths, sipping the succor of the cheering crowd; but I had a feeling
of weakness from my chest: instincts dictated that I had to slow down. It was the wall I could not break
through. I finished the race walking
across the finish line...
But at least I was upright!
And I finished in 46:16, beating my goal by almost four minutes, while shaving
six minutes off my Heart Mini time! Let not the perfect be the enemy of the good,
and having done good I feel great! As we
entered the ebullient atmosphere of victorious runners and their families in Yeatman's
Cove, I was amaze how quickly I recovered, what satisfaction coursed through my
veins. The Pig proved to be a tough slough,
and I couldn't have done any better this day.
To best my best again, I'm going to have to continue to lose weight, to get
stronger and push myself. I can't wait!
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| Took the also-ran to Kristyna's gold medal. Beat by a 10-year-old girl! Rematch Requested! |
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