5 K Fun

5K Fun

by Christine Waldman



I would be the first to admit that I am a woman built more for comfort than speed. That’s why I received many astonished looks from friends when I told them about the 5K race I would be running. I had not lost my mind nor wasI prone to subject my self to extreme forms of torture. I was doing it for my 9 year old daughter who wanted me to be her running buddy for her Girls on the Run race.
Since the event was over two months away when I first heard of it, I figured that would give me ample time to get into shape, or as it turned out, stuff my face and gain another 10 pounds with which to lug around on race day.
My daughter’s coaches assured me that I didn’t really need to be able to run, that I could walk and my daughter could run ahead and then run back to me throughout the race, somewhat like an over eager Golden Retriever.
The day arrived and run\walking in 35 degree weather was really the last thing I wanted to do. I had dressed in 47 layers of clothes, forgetting to take into account that I might actually need to bend at the knees.
For my daughters sake, I attempted to have a better attitude and tried to channel my inner Gazelle. Unfortunately, my inner Gazelle was more like a lumbering Rhinoceros, but I was determined to give it my best.
The race leaders started things off with stretches and calisthenics to warm everyone up right before the race. According to leading race officials and Sports medicine Authorities, doing the Macarena is the best way to avoid a Hamstring pull. I’ve heard this same philosophy applies to bike racing and even Lance Armstrong does the Macarena and the Funky Chicken before the Tour de France.
By the time we had done the Macarena, I was so hot and exhausted that I was ready for a nap. Unfortunately, that was when they started the race and we were up and running, or in my case, lumbering. In about 2.5 seconds my daughter, who had begged me to be her race buddy, took off leaving me in the dust, and started running up ahead with my Gazelle-like friend.
I had two goals in mind; #1-was not to come in last and #2-not to suffer a myocardial infarction, in which case I would definitely come in last, but would not be as humiliated because I would be dead and too busy floating above my body noticing how fat I looked in sweatpants.
I had walked around 1\2 a mile, or 10,000,000 centimeters, and had 10 people behind me. I was keeping an even keel with a woman a few years older and at least 15 pounds heavier than me, when my competitiveness kicked in.
I started jogging so I could outdistance the other woman. Well, jogging is a strong word, it was more like a fast shuffle, but it did get me ahead of her. I tried not to worry that those 11 people were all witnessing the sight of my butt in jog mode. Hopefully, I would never see them again.
I was sufficiently ahead, so I slowed my shuffle back to trudging speed so I could catch my breath. I went around a sharp turn, when suddenly the woman was in front of me! She cheated by cutting across the shortest point in the turn.
That was so not fair. I was mad that she took a short cut and messed up my plan to beat her, but most of all I was ticked off that I hadn’t thought of it first!
So now I had to run (think zombie with a Charlie Horse) past her again. Keep in mind that I had gone only 1 mile or 20,000,000 millimeters by now.
The next mile I did a fast walk, constantly looking behind me, in the manner of an extremely paranoid escaped convict, keeping an eye on my competition. I was feeling good, I had one more mile to go, I wasn’t last, and I wasn’t having a heart attack.
The race path led us into the woods and back out again on the same route. This meant that everyone ahead of you would pass by. I was given many pitying looks and words of encouragement from all those gazelles, including my daughter, who acknowledged me with a small wave. I somehow refrained from tripping her.
Some of the supportive remarks were things like; you can do it!, you’re almost there, and do you need CPR?
What seemed like 5 hours later, I did finally reach the turn around spot in the woods and was giving it all I had. At this point I was not lumbering as much as lurching forward. The racing guides were starting to break down the race markers, taking down signs and leisurely walking back to the finish line. No one else was coming towards me and when I looked back, there were only 5 people behind me and none of them were my nemesis. Man, she did it again! She somehow managed to get out in front.
The people that I was beating consisted of a woman with her daughter, who had twisted her ankle, and 3 very fit looking folks who could easily pass me at any moment. In fact, I had a sneaking suspicion that they were waiting until I was 50 feet from the finish line to do just that.
It was time to put on the steam and run. I zeroed in on another chubby mom in front of me and left her in my dust. The finish line was within sight now, and that’s when I hit the wall and couldn’t run anymore. The girl with the sprained ankle and her mother passed me, but I was just being gracious.
The last 30 feet I gave it what little I had left, and sprinted across the finish line. Later I saw a picture of me crossing the line, and I looked like I was standing still.
I am proud to say that I was not last, 5 people finished after me, and I had successfully ran (shuffled) in a 5 K (100,000,000,000 decameters) race without soiling my pants.
They were giving out free soup, pretzels, and hot chocolate for the participants, but by the time I got there, it was all gone. I looked over and my nemesis was just finishing her soup and hot chocolate and placing it in the trash.
I realized then that although cheaters never win, they can still get the last bowl of soup.

copywrite 2010 cwaldman