With about three weeks to go before the race, everyone around me caught bad colds--my grandsons, my wife, my daughter and her husband. My defenses went up: hugs only for my wife, no kissing grandpa, trying not to breath around anyone who sneezes or has the sniffles, constant hand washing, avoiding public fountains. I don't know about you, but I become a germaphobe when an important race is approaching.
Five days before the race I could tell a cold germ had entered my body. The nose felt odd. The sinuses began to drain and my throat felt tender. Immediately I rushed out to the Dollar Store to pick up a box of Zicam and begin zinc therapy--all to no avail. The day before the race I had trouble talking and a rumbling cough. Cursed cold germs!
On race morning I decided to go for broke, throw caution to the wind, and go out at a pace that would give me a chance of finishing in the top three of my age group--males 55-59. For six miles I hit 6:40s and went through the 10k in 41:35. Then it hit me like a sucker punch from a schoolyard bully. Mile seven was so punishing that I decided to drop back to a seven-minute-per-mile pace. The problem with going out fast and then backing off in a big race is that with every other step another person passes you. Being constantly passed just adds to the mental battle.
By mile ten I didn't care. Go ahead and pass me. I won't put up a fight. That's right. I'm a wimp. At mile eleven my hamstring began to cramp. Great. Now I'm going to have to limp in. At mile twelve I became enveloped by a swarm of runners. What in the world? It felt like I was on an episode of The Walking Dead. Then I looked up and noticed the leader carrying a sign with the numbers 1:30. Oh no! I have just been passed by the One hour and thirty minute pace group. This can't be happening.
At that point I quit feeling sorry for myself, picked up my pace, and passed the swarm. The last half mile felt agonizing, but I finally crossed the finish line in 1:29:24. Later I found out I placed fifth in my age group. Oh well. I came, I ran, I finished. For that I am thankful. Next year I plan on wearing a hazmat suit a month before the race.
Cheers to the finishers.
My son-in-law, Ryan Shirley, and me celebrating his first Half Marathon with a shot of raspberry iced tea.
By the way, the amount of give-a-ways after the race is amazing. My wife goes crazy when there are free goodies for the pickins. And my friends and family feasted on Jimmy-John's free sandwiches. All in all it was a great day ... despite the cursed cold germ!
Happy running,
Joe C. Ells
