I was excited. Ready to run. Inside of every fat old dad who thought he was a decent athlete in high school, there is a teenager raring to go.
That teenager inside has the exuberance of adolescence, the confidence that comes with no experience, the pride of the immortal 18-year old, and, at least in my case, much longer hair.
This morning, THIS former teenager was ready to show the world that although exercise now consists of jogging with 3 to 4 children in one stroller, doing wind sprints while carrying a baby, and doing pullups on the soccer goals while furtively watching to make sure that none of the children are escaping, he's still got it.
Well, some of it.
|Running in an earlier race this year. Notice how there is traffic everywhere on the course? The winner of the Marathon this morning got hit by a motorcycle, but he kept on going and still won!|
I was ready for everything. All I needed was on the table the night before. clothes, socks, racing bib, water bottle to put my cold coffee in, headphones, etc. etc.
I got up, ready to go. Ate breakfast, drank a bit of cold coffee. The lady where I signed up for the race said the 5-K should start about 5:45, so I was close on time but doing ok.
I arrived at the race, and looked at the start line, and there was about 80 little middle-schoolers lined up at the starting line. What the?!??
I ran to the line and in my best Visayan found out that the 5-K had started earlier than I had been told, and the slowest runners were nowhere in sight. I could see a good 700 meters down the course, and there was nobody.
Cursing my stupidity at not being earlier than I thought was necessary, I threw my unopened bottle of cold coffee down, anddodged through the 12-year olds getting ready for the kids race, and passed the start line.
I ran hard, it was a super hilly course, first half was the best downhill part, I ran well and I actually started passing lots of people from the 5-K. When the dust had settled, and I made it up the mile-long hill at the end of the race (no joke, the last mile is a long, slow, then steeper uphill that killed me) I finished with an ok time on my stopwatch. I didn't even look at the official time clock.
I was rather upset, a bit mad, but had just finished a reallyreally good workout, so I didn't have a lot of energy for lots of emotions other than My Legs Hurt and I'm Really Tired and Give Me Water.
I didn't stay for the award ceremony, because I have 4 kids to take care of, and I was pretty confident I got nothing in the way of race hardware.
I'm not complaining, I'll take it. I'm just not sure if I should be proud of winning it, or wondering if there was 4 people in my age group and I beat one of them. I don't know. I don't care. I might find out if they post the race times on the internet.
But for now, I'm just going to bask in the high-school-like pride of having won a medal, and beaten at least a few other equally over-worked dads in the process.
*I found out later this afternoon that they counted racing chip times. So, that means that even though I finished way behind the other medalists, my chip time was faster than lots of other people that finished before I did. That is how I got my sweet medal.
Bronze Medal, Baby! Now if I just had a little more time to train for London....
|My four favorite training partners. We run and do cross training 5 days a week together. I would like to dedicate this bronze (probably tin) medal to them. Without their active participation in PE class, |
none of this would have been possible...