The Frigid Five Miler

Well - I did it again. I suppose it's become akin to some twisted addiction, this need to partake in these running races every month or so. And the more extreme the conditions the more challenging and, in the end, the more damn fun it all is.

But this was the first time that I had waited until the absolute last minute to decide. All week long I had doubted that I'd run it, had not submitted an online registration form, and had kept an eye on the dire weather forecast understanding that my left leg (the one with the blood circulation problem) was just now recovering from a week-long ache caused by unknown forces.

But the locale was just down the street at Mitch Park so I figured it wouldn't hurt to mosey on over there and check out the course, the turn-out, and the conditions. And of course I went prepared to run.

Since the wind was once again galing and the wind chill was eleven measley degrees being prepared meant this: thermal underwear (both top and bottom) / white t-shirt / long-sleeve thick shirt / gloves / beanie cap / sun glasses. Oh yes, I was ready to partake.

With ten minutes until race time I decided to just frickin' do it. I quickly filled out the form and wrote the Edmond Running Club a check for $22 bucks, pinned my number on my chest as my anticipation mounted, grabbed my cool new shirt, and headed to the starting line.

The wind from the northwest shot arrows of icicles through us as we all grinned and loosened up. I was pumped. I am not crazy --- just a little stupid. And not very fast.

Muffled Pop (I could barely hear the starting gun through my cap) and off we go! After about ten minutes of running I forgot the cold. Thank God for the gloves though. I saw one guy running with his hands down his pants.

I am indelibly familiar with Mitch Park having walked and run through its paved trails maybe a hundred times over the last decade. So the paths were known but the route they chose quite unique. In my bed that night after the race I went over and over the route in my head, trying to relive the run, trying to recall how I felt at each juncture, and I'm not sure if that is a healthy endeavor or not. My legs ached as I laid there attempting to relive every pounding stride.

Anyway, at about the three mile mark somehow a damn pebble found its way into my right shoe. Now how in the hell can that happen? After having my shoe laces untie during the previous race (and adding proably 20 seconds to my time) I told myself to forget it, let it stay in there, but with each step I felt its tiny piercing stab so I thought, okay, don't stop, but with each step try to manuever the little fella to the front of the shoe where I knew adequate open space could be found. And it worked as the pebble dislodged and moved further up the shoe and at some point I forgot about it and could feel icy cold all over again.

Did I mention the cramps? I felt them almost immediately because I had not eaten since I didn't think I was really going to be running. Funny how cramps move around. They show up in the upper right portion of your stomach, then work themselves out there but then suddenly reappear in your lower left. Then your lower right. Damn the pebble! And then they reappear smack dab in the middle. Suddenly an angry gust of wind and you realize your nose is running.

I passed this one guy at the 3 1/2 mile mark or so and that must have rankled him as he immediately passed me right back. He was a younger, thinner guy and I guess the sight of me blowing by him in my overstuffed outfit and with all my huffing and puffing must have lit a fire under his scrawny ass.

At the 4 mile mark I was holding my own, not passing anyone, yet not being passed either, when behind me I heard a strange rhythm appoaching me. I turned and saw this woman gaining on me --- and speedwalking. That's right. I was passed by a speedwalker. I know that's supposed to hurt but on this day I had other things hurting besides my pride. I let it go and watched her slink past and move away.

My legs were heavy at this point. I could not really move them any faster but at least I could keep them moving. The crazy thoughts that enter your head. You want to finish strong, but then again, simply finishing appears like a fine goal. No it's not. You must improve your time. Don't let someone pass you near the finish line.

Finally the route turned toward the northwest as I knew it had to. To the Finish Line. Straight into the worst gusts of the entire run. Simply incredible. And as I drew nearer I heard yet another sound of pitter-patter behind me. A tall woman in her thirties, an older dude with a gray beard in his fifties. They were actually gunning for me. I had become their goal -- their challenge. To beat me to the finish. Now the gal was slim and looked like a runner so as a gentleman I had no real problem with allowing her to pass. But the guy. It rankled me. So as the sob caught me I attempted to accelerate but it just wasn't there. I gassed it for about fifteen yards and so did he and then I retreated as the bastard sprinted on. My legs were dead.

I crossed the finish line at just over 53 minutes. That's not fast. But considering my last-minute decision, no food, cramps and that blasted pebble I guess it's okay.

And yep -- I had fun! Let's play two!

Footnote: the Creek Classic arrives in three weeks. In the interim I will work on some speed training and finish my workouts in a strong way. I will NOT be passed like that again!