Tommy May 5k in Review
One of the founding pillars of the Greek tragedy is that the hero sees the warning signs of imminent danger beforehand. However, due to a combination of tragic flaws or fate (a.k.a. the will of the gods) they are unable to avoid their downfall. Consider Odysseus, how many times was that poor sob given warnings? Ah, what is so easy for us to see in others. . .
The Friday night before the race bore many of those similar tell-tale signs of imminent doom: my training / racing partner did not register for the race; Weather.com predicted steady and heavy rain until the beginning of next week; that afternoon I ran speed work with my student athletes during practice, and my quads were sore. Perhaps the largest omen was a phone call I received during dinnertime- two cohorts that planned to run the race with me called from a bar drunk off their asses. Not good. Yeah, I ignored all the warnings and prepared to race the next day- rain, shine, or rapture.
According to the volunteers at the registration table, 40 runners pre-registered, and, based on past experience, they expected about 100 race day applications. As you could have guessed, only the 40 showed that rainy morning. Maybe they were overly enthusiastic about running, or didn’t want to bite the registration fee. The entire crowd could be described one of two ways- my students or their parents. Oh yeah, and those two co-workers did manage to show despite their outing the night before!
Although the turnout was so small, it was a special race: I had the opportunity to run against the students I teach / taught and athletes I coached. Above all I was glad to show that I practice what I preach- a running coach that runs. The kids were psyched at the idea of possibly outrunning their coach. One particular eight grader (that shall go unnamed for the protection of privacy), one of the top runners on my cross-country team, had challenged me to the runners’ equivalent of a duel- showdown at the start line. I thrive on friendly competition.
There was nothing glorious about this race: the course was an out and back through the suburbs, the race waited several minutes for road traffic to clear; and there was no official starting gun, just the command to “GO!” As typical with medium to smaller sized races, I positioned myself in the very back of the pack so that I could pass runners (rather than be passed by others). Within a few minutes of the start, I passed most every one of my athletes and their parents all save that particular eighth grader. My mentality for the entire race was to stay locked into this position.
Although out-and-back courses aren’t particularly inspiring, they are great for judging pace and distance. I had a rough idea of how well I was running at the halfway mark, knowing that the second half of the race would be dedicated to the task of catching my challenger. By this point the rain subsided, but the wind picked up, blowing gusts of air, slowing my stride. Out of nowhere I heard an onlooker cheer me on. I turned my head to see one of my co-workers shouting my name from her front porch. I pushed on. The harder I pushed, the more I felt myself overheat and begin to fatigue. For every foot I gained on my competition, he managed to press ahead that same distance.
Rounding the last corner, I managed to gain a good amount of ground on the eighth grader, but knew that there was no way that I could catch him in the last hundred feet. I was shocked to see official time at the finishing line- 22 minutes 50 seconds and counting. Pushing with my last reserve of energy, I darted for the finish line clearing in 23 minutes flat; about 80 seconds better than my best time ever, managing to smash my personal goal of finishing under 24 minutes.
That day all of my students placed within their age category. The eighth grader managed to best me by 20 seconds, a feat he will be able to brag about through track and field season, until the end of this year. My one cohort managed to finish despite a toe injury, and placed second in her age class. I PR’ed that day, and placed third in my age category. Now I can brag to Jon, my running partner, that I beat the 24-minute barrier. My new goal is to run a 22 minute race.
The Friday night before the race bore many of those similar tell-tale signs of imminent doom: my training / racing partner did not register for the race; Weather.com predicted steady and heavy rain until the beginning of next week; that afternoon I ran speed work with my student athletes during practice, and my quads were sore. Perhaps the largest omen was a phone call I received during dinnertime- two cohorts that planned to run the race with me called from a bar drunk off their asses. Not good. Yeah, I ignored all the warnings and prepared to race the next day- rain, shine, or rapture.
According to the volunteers at the registration table, 40 runners pre-registered, and, based on past experience, they expected about 100 race day applications. As you could have guessed, only the 40 showed that rainy morning. Maybe they were overly enthusiastic about running, or didn’t want to bite the registration fee. The entire crowd could be described one of two ways- my students or their parents. Oh yeah, and those two co-workers did manage to show despite their outing the night before!
Although the turnout was so small, it was a special race: I had the opportunity to run against the students I teach / taught and athletes I coached. Above all I was glad to show that I practice what I preach- a running coach that runs. The kids were psyched at the idea of possibly outrunning their coach. One particular eight grader (that shall go unnamed for the protection of privacy), one of the top runners on my cross-country team, had challenged me to the runners’ equivalent of a duel- showdown at the start line. I thrive on friendly competition.
There was nothing glorious about this race: the course was an out and back through the suburbs, the race waited several minutes for road traffic to clear; and there was no official starting gun, just the command to “GO!” As typical with medium to smaller sized races, I positioned myself in the very back of the pack so that I could pass runners (rather than be passed by others). Within a few minutes of the start, I passed most every one of my athletes and their parents all save that particular eighth grader. My mentality for the entire race was to stay locked into this position.
Although out-and-back courses aren’t particularly inspiring, they are great for judging pace and distance. I had a rough idea of how well I was running at the halfway mark, knowing that the second half of the race would be dedicated to the task of catching my challenger. By this point the rain subsided, but the wind picked up, blowing gusts of air, slowing my stride. Out of nowhere I heard an onlooker cheer me on. I turned my head to see one of my co-workers shouting my name from her front porch. I pushed on. The harder I pushed, the more I felt myself overheat and begin to fatigue. For every foot I gained on my competition, he managed to press ahead that same distance.
Rounding the last corner, I managed to gain a good amount of ground on the eighth grader, but knew that there was no way that I could catch him in the last hundred feet. I was shocked to see official time at the finishing line- 22 minutes 50 seconds and counting. Pushing with my last reserve of energy, I darted for the finish line clearing in 23 minutes flat; about 80 seconds better than my best time ever, managing to smash my personal goal of finishing under 24 minutes.
That day all of my students placed within their age category. The eighth grader managed to best me by 20 seconds, a feat he will be able to brag about through track and field season, until the end of this year. My one cohort managed to finish despite a toe injury, and placed second in her age class. I PR’ed that day, and placed third in my age category. Now I can brag to Jon, my running partner, that I beat the 24-minute barrier. My new goal is to run a 22 minute race.
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