19 April 2010

Winning your age Group

So, probably one of the weirdest things happened to me this weekend. I decided on Friday night that I was going to participate in one of the 17 5ks in the Little Rock area. That in itself is not unusual for me, I like to think of myself as someone who appreciates fitness and I enjoy the sense of competition. I entered the Beyond Boundaries Bash and Dash 5K that our friend from church was putting on as part of a charity that her work does for kids with disabilities. The day started out lovely, as any Saturday would when you wake up at 6 am to go pay to run 3.1 miles. Rachael was so excited she groggily asked what day it was when I tried to wake her up to see if she would like to go with me to watch the race and see the kids ride in their Hipotherapy display. I decided, for the sake of our relationship, that it was probably best for her to stay in bed and catch up on some sleep that she lost because I was flying nights this past week. When I arrived at the race start, I was greeted by the friendly people at the registration table. That is always a plus because that is usually one of the more frustrating parts of being a procrastinating race registerer(real word...i think not?). With the registering over, I managed to run into a few acquaintances from the running world here in AR. We chatted idly, mainly discussing their techniques for running with their 3 year old and their 18 month old in jogging strollers while they are clipping off 6:30 pace, for the remaining 20 minutes before the starting gun.

When the gun sounded I decided I would do what I could to just try and hang on to the couple pushing strollers. That was easier than it should have been for the first part of the race, but that was mainly just because the 3 year old thought that it was funny to watch her father have to slam the stroller to a stop, pick up the blanket, shove said blanket behind child, and then sprint feverishly to try and latch back on to the lead pack. I think the humor of the situation managed to take my mind off the fact that I hadn't prepared for this race in the slightest. As we pushed out into the first mile, I was feeling pretty good. I picked out my new "rabbit" (aka the person who I use to push myself ) because the stroller couple had already moved about a minute in front of me. We crossed the first mile at 7:50, which is not all that extraordinary for my history of running but I am willing to accept it with recent training in mind. At this point I had to move on to a new rabbit, because my previous rabbit had decided to stop and talk to the person calling out times at the mile point about their upcoming test in biology. With my new rabbit found, I began to chase him down. This chase took much longer and was aided by the rabbit taking the chance to walk the last hundred meters of the second mile. I caught this rabbit right as we crossed the second mile at 15:43. As I began the last mile I already knew that there was going to be pain.

As we made the turn to the final straightaway (there was still .8 miles to go) I caught a glimpse of the one thing you never want to see in a race, someone gaining on you. In typical fashion, I straightened my stride, slowed my breathing, and took the nasty pain grimace off of my face. All this in the effort to make this person think that I still had a full tank of gas, and that he was better off not even trying to pass me. If only he had known the truth. I managed to pick up my pace just enough to keep him at the distance I spotted him at. The increase in speed (relative term) seemed to work for the next half mile or so. By this point I could see the finish line. Because I trained so vigorously for this event, I knew I had the finishing kick that would put Olympians to shame......NOT! With .2 miles to go I began looking over my shoulder about every 50 meters. My legs were spent and I knew that I was going to get passed in the final sprint (once again relative) by this mysterious person who I could feel gaining on me with every step. At about 150 meters to go I could see the spectators at the finish line. I could see their faces lit up with the kind of excitement that you only see when you are watching the discovery channel cheetah chase down the injured water buffalo. With about 50 meters to go I decided that it was all or nothing at this point. If he was going to beat me, he was going to have to try and pass me at full speed. I gave the separation one last check, and then I embraced the tunnel vision that comes with running for the first time in over a month while then sprinting with everything you have to the finish line. I crossed the finish line with a lead of what I thought was inches. I turned my head to congratulate this person for a great effort only to turn a full circle and see absolutely no one. As I stood about 10 feet past the finish line, hands on me knees, gasping for air like I just summited Mt Everest, I look back up the course to see the person I thought was right on my heels still about 300 meters from finishing. About this time one of the stroller pushers comes up beside me and comments on the absolute look of desperation on my face as I crossed the finish line. I decided it was probably best not to tell anyone that I had almost lost to a figment of my imagination. I did make the obligatory comment about "finishing strong" and that other crap that racers like to hear. As I managed to gather myself enough to actually move through the finishing corral, the timers took my race number, and gave me a card to fill out with my name and age on it. At the top of the card was a number 10. I asked the lady that gave me the card what that meant, and she told me that I had finished in 10th place. WHAT!?!!? I think I she thought I was going to pass out from exhaustion, but in reality it was going to be from the shock of my finish more than what had gotten me there. I gathered myself and walked to the table where they write the information on your card (I guess you get the star treatment when you finish top 10) and then I walked out to the public seating to find a nice sunny spot where I could bask in the glory of my first top 10 since I won the Pie Eating Contest 4 years running in High School.

When it was time for the awards ceremony I decided to go over and watch them hand out the age group awards and over-all winners. Not that I had a chance, they stopped giving out 10th place trophies/ribbons/medals after the kindergarten track meet. I listened as they called out the winners for the men and women from the 50+ all the 30's in five year increments. When they got to 25-29 year old male, I had the idiotic thought that I would be in that group next year (stupid because I turned 25 in January). The announcer picked up the prize for the male winner and called out "RICK WINGFIELD". As I clapped stupidly and looked around for the person that had a name strangely close to mine one of the stroller runners came over to me and said "If you don't want to go get your medal and prize I can say that you already left." That was when it hit me......I had actually won MY age group. First thought: "Take that Mom. Who is slow?" Second thought: "Stop standing here like an idiot." When I got to the front they gave me my gold medal, my 10lb. box of rice, and I got my picture taken with MISS JUNIOR RODEO ARKANSAS. After a few more photos with some of the more awestruck fans I managed to pry myself loose from the throngs of people and make my way to the car for my first time ever to drive home as CHAMPION 25-29 MALE BOOT SCOOTIN' BASH AND DASH 5K.

Take that world.....