On "Racing"

Racing day.  Again.  Last week Maureen and I "wogged" a 5k to support a local pre-school.  Maureen's competitive spirit led the charge as we worked to finish not-dead-last.  Today Maureen, Leigh and I participated in the Art Tudhoe 10K in Shelburne, Vermont.  Perk?  The route was beautiful,  running parallel to Lake Champlain amidst peak leaf peeping season.  Drawback? The route was intended for running.   

Have I mentioned that I'm not a runner, that this is my second  road "race" (the first being last week), that school-day nightmares are dredged whenever running is involved?  Well, let me mention that now.  Any person who was overweight in elementary and/or high school will have a small place reserved in mental hell for their time served in Physical Education. 

I remember, for example, hanging from the bar for dear life in a failed attempt to do one, measly pull-up.  I remember "running" the bi-yearly mile, sucking in life-giving breath as Mr. Braves waited, stopwatch in hand.  On that merciless gravel track I thanked God first that I could still breath and second that my classmates had crossed the finish line eons ago and already turned into the locker room.  I could go on, but let's just say my past with organized exercise is, well,  jaded. 

You can imagine my feelings then  as Leigh and I slowly pulled in and parked before the mob of svelte runners who were warming up, stretching and securing fanny packs with mini-water bottles  holstered to their waists.  I wanted Leigh to reverse her gears and speed out of the nightmare I had tactfully and intentionally avoided for years.   I would of happily run in that moment.  Away. 

But, alas, this was to be our third challenge.  So when one of the runners mistook Leigh and I, who were speaking to each other in low whispers, as the ladies manning the water cooler (for who could imagine these two well-built women had racing numbers neatly pinned under their sweatshirts), I knew we were pegged. 

Maureen arrived soon after.  A word about Maureen.  In our  1312 (one year, three friends, twelve challenges) threesome, Maureen is her own animal.  She's set the bar.  The girl's nearly lost fifty pounds.  And speaking of pounds, she pounds the pavement every day pushing her double stroller with a fiery fierceness reserved for warriors and mothers of more than one toddler.  Spoiler alert: Maureen ran all 6.2 miles.  RAN IT!  The girl is a phenom! 

But back to Leigh and I.  We ran it too.  We ran the first 1/8th of a mile and the last 1/8th of a mile.  In-between?  Oh, just the usual:  shin-splints, hip aches, foot discomfort, fever blisters…through the rain we trudged on.  Sometimes we lost ourselves in conversation.  At one point, all the runners reached the three mile mark, turned around, and passed us, heading with determination to the finish line before them, behind us.  One-by-one, we watched them run with masks of determination.  One-by-one they passed us in the opposite direction until there were no more.  There we were.  Two women and a muddied racing route.  Oh, and the racing staff who wrung out their shirts, wiped their brows, and kicked at puddles waiting for us, the caboose, to reach the 3 mile marker, pivot and trudge back 3 miles to the finish.  They were kind though, that staff.  They offered us water.   And when we told the one on the bike who thought all the racers had reached the three mile marker and turned back for the finish line - that was until he stumbled up on us - we'd gladly turn back before the 3 mile marker so he'd not have to wait, he encouraged us.

"No," he said kindly, "you've got to do it all otherwise you'll regret it."  Clearly he didn't know us.  But do-it-all we did.  In fact, after we hit the 3 mile and turned back, we were followed by the kind man on the bike and the man in the car taking down all the racing signs.  So there Leigh and I walked in all our glory with a cavalcade following behind us, occasionally coaxing us, "to the right please," whenever we veered too far to the road's middle.

We laughed, we chatted, we walked, we complained: therapy.  And nearly two hours later we jogged.  We actually jogged to the finish.  Leigh had, what she later described, as a Forest Gump moment.  Imagine it with me for a moment: Forest Gump is a child.  Boys are throwing rocks.  Jenny is yelling, "Run, Forest, Run."  He runs like a rooster, his legs straight and unyielding, his braces holding them hostage when low-and-behold the braces defect and fall bolt-by-bolt to the wayside.  And then Forest runs.  Oh does he run.  In like manner, Leigh and I began laboring awkwardly until our bodies took over and we hit some otherworldly stride.   We ran.  We ran right to the finish line, the staff following us up the rear, Maureen and a few staffers cheering us on.  Cue Chariots of Fire…slow the tempo a bit more.  There.  That's right.

Maureen, Leigh and I bracing for the 10K

We finished!  Do you hear me?  We finished! Then and there Maureen, Leigh and I walked by the winners circle, where medals dangled from athletic necks and settled cozily upon athletic chests.  En route to our cars, we paused just for a moment to recognize our achievements.  Maureen ran the 10k in 1 hour and 14 minutes.  Leigh and I finished the 10k (phew).  There may have been a couple tears.  There was probably some shameless group-aggrandizement.  But there is no doubt that three women made giant strides on a little rainy route today on the shores of Lake Champlain.   For me, some childhood insecurities were overcome.  Today I moved as one body - though I was certainly the slow and nearly palsied appendage -  toward a finish line.  I completed the race, if that's what we want to call it, with two of my best friends among seasoned athletes who have trained for these moments all their life.  I wasn't alone today beating a graveled track watching a wearied phys ed. teacher squint against the sun.  Today I was a racer among other racers.  Today I was just another number in a sea of numbers, and it felt…good!

"Here Here" to challenge #3