Run for Tony 5K in Review

There were several deciding factors that led me to run this race:

1. This 5k is a charitable event. Proceeds are donated to help Tony who was injured in a car crash, became a quadriplegic, and now has an expensive medical bill just to keep him alive. Live strong Tony! Live strong.
2. I haven’t run a race since the Broad Street 10 Miler. Since then I’ve become lax with my training schedule. Having goals keeps me focused and motivated. I need this race to kick my ass, so I can get back on track with my training.
3. Initially I started running as a way to loose weight before my wedding, and then as a way to maintain it. Now my goal is to become more physically fit, because if not now, then never; I’ll be 30 soon.
4. The course stretches behind my old high school, Paul VI, my old long distance training grounds. The Haddonfield running crew is using tonight in place of the weekly 7 mile run.
5. All right, I’ve mentioned enough noble and noteworthy items here. Lets get real! Free post-race beer was advertised in the flyer. Call it a charitable event with benefits.

When Jon and I showed up at the scene an hour early, neither of us were feeling good about the race. He was feeling a cramp from a workout the day before. I was doubtful because of my inconsistent running schedule this summer. We have both hit a 24-minute 5k plateau in the last few years. To night is incredibly humid, and I rubbed Vaseline between my thighs to prevent chaffing. We are definitely not breaking any personal records tonight.

Registration, the starting line, the finish line, and post-race party was hosted by R-Macs, a local Westmont bar. This place was packed! I couldn’t believe how many people showed up for this event. Unfortunate for Jon and I, the complimentary race t-shirts were being handed out left and right . I wound up with all they had left: an extra-large which fits me swimmingly.

Looking around, it appeared that the age range was not evenly distributed. There were more pre-teens than I have seen in any other race, a ton of high school kids (soccer and cross-country teams in training), hardly any 20-year-olds (went back to college), and a ton of parents in their prime middle years. Oh yeah, and a group of 30 army / police cadets with their superiors. Fun to watch them stretch and choral chant answers to their commander in unison. This was an odd mix for competition.

It is traditional that runners line themselves up according to their level of performance: faster runners are sent to the front of the line and the slower runners fill in behind according to their minute per mile pace. The army / police cadet training group would run in unison bringing up the caboose of the race. Over the years I’ve learned to choose my position wisely- start in the far, far back. I would rather start with the slow group and pass people slower people throughout the entire race rather than start up front and be passed- that is my racing inspiration.

The pistol goes off, and a thick soupy-mixture of people are channeled down the street. Starting in the back of the pack means that the slower runners are obstructing my ability to spring ahead. In order to pass, you have to look out for open pockets, then carefully dodge and weave your way into the pocket, and then be on the lookout for the next opening.

Running side-by-side with Jon is impossible at this point. Usually one of us darts ahead and then waits for the other to catch up. Our combined strategy is to cat and mouse the first leg of the race. One of us sprints ahead for the other to catch up, only tonight Jon isn’t keeping up. Fearing that his cramps have really locked in, I decide to break ahead.

Our second team strategy is for me to rabbit Jon. I’ll maintain a pace yards in front, and he tries to draft me for the next few miles. Until the finish line where success is determined by whether he is close enough to pass me with his final kick, or if I have put enough distance between us to keep him at bay. I can only hope that Jon has kept me in sight, and press on despite his cramps. I press on not knowing how much distance I put between us.

The pack thins out, and we are snaking up and down neighborhood streets. Runners are a mathematically precise bunch. They can estimate distance and running pace with a fair amount of precision. However, tonight’s convoluted course disorients me; I have no sense of distance, and therefore have no way to strategize my pace. Running “blindly”, I stride on with a consistent pace. I have a running strategy that seems to work well. Two rules, easy to remember:

1. Pass people
2. Don’t let people pass you.

The rules are simple; execution is a bitch. Passing the person in front of me is my short term goal, and there is always someone in front. I never hit my second wind, and never become relaxed enough to settle into good running form. Sweat pours down my brow into my eyes, where the salinity stings and causes me to tear. No sense in rubbing my eyes- my hands are just as sweaty. I can't turn my head to look back for Jon. It will offset my balance and waste precious energy. I feel water sloshing around in my stomach. My throat is viscous with a mixture of Power Gel and humidity.

Then it happens: I turn the last corner and finish line is in within sight. It came up so quickly that never had time to readjust my pace for my final kick. I cross the line at 24:20- no better or worse than any previous 5k run in the past few years. Jon crosses the line shortly behind me.

Tonight we resolve to lower our running time, increase our running pace, which can only happen if we begin to speed train. We sit, ponder, and reflect on what we did and didn't do right; then head back to R-Macs for our free beer. Unfortunately their third keg ran dry and are no longer offering free drafts; people are forcecd to purchase beers at the bar. We scoop out a bowl of complimentary post-race pesto pasta, sip a $3 Coors Light draft, and watch the post-race festivities in silence.

There is always next time.