Everyone who has run a 5K (or any race, for that matter) knows the "uh-oh" moment. It's that moment that you look down at your watch after a mile of adrenaline-fueled racing and go "uh-oh....I'm gonna die..." I raced the Mountain Dew Invitational cross country race last weekend, and as I passed the stopwatch-gripping collegiate coaches at mile 1, they barked out "6:10...6:11...6:12.." My heart sank, and I looked at my watch to confirm: I had ran a 6:10 first mile. Uh-oh.
I felt good, but I was 10 seconds off pace and there were hills scattered throughout the course. Three miles is a long time to hold an effort that is just short of maximal. In fact, it's like a suicide race for a distance runner like me. The weather was hot and humid, and it felt as if the moisture in the air was smothering my lungs. I looked around at one point the race, and thought about how cool it was to be running and competing with so many college athletes, all who had the privilege to wear a singlet bearing their school's name. But then my thoughts shifted back to how much pain I was in, and I tried to concentrate on controlling my breathing. Then I ran past another barrage of coaches at mile two. I looked at my watch again: 12:50.
I took a few more strides before it set in. I had run a two mile PR (faster than I had ever run in high school, on the track no less!) in the middle of my 5K. I heard a coach yell to one of his runners that she was on pace for an under 20 finish. "That's what you want more that anything in the world..." I thought to myself, trying to stay motivated. Unfortunately, I felt my energy waning, and I for some reason I knew at that moment that today wasn't going to be the day. In hindsight, if I could have been able to keep a positive attitude at that point in the race, I may have pulled it off.
I struggled through the last mile, bumbling over the last hill as my legs were rebelling any further movement. My confident gallop at the start had turned into a marathoner's shuffle. Just like all cross country races, the end of the race was ambiguous. Just when you think you are turning towards the finish, you loop around with the finish line in sight. It's so heartbreaking. Regardless, I did my best to finish strong, but I felt like I was running in slow motion towards the finish line. I at least knew that I had run really hard that day, because I really did not have much left at the end.
When I was able to make out the 20 on the clock, I instantly dropped my head muttered a special word or two. Not today. I still finished in 20:50, which is something I never did in high school or in an official race. I was proud of not walking or stopping, as I have done so many times before when I put pressure on myself. I came very close in that last mile.
I walked away from the race extremely happy, because I realized that time isn't everything. I was proud of my effort, and I was grateful just to be out there racing. I also realized that I have people that love me very much. I got to see my coach and old cross country team, who came out early to watch, as well as other friends who came to cheer me and the others on. Their support meant so much to me, and seeing them at the finish line was the best part of all. They say distance running and training is lonely and self-centered, but I actually think that is far from the truth. The camaraderie in suffering is absolutely amazing, and you can't put a value on a couple of friendly faces smiling at you as you feel like dying at the end of a race. :)
