I’ve never run a Turkey Trot. Probably because we’re asked to arrive at 9 or 10am at whomever’s family member’s house we are going to for a Thanksgiving feast. Clearly, this cuts into any potential holiday races. But, not this year.
I was determined to race a Turkey Trot this year. Not because I’d been training for one, but simply because I WANTED TO DO IT! Finally. For several weeks, I had been shopping around for a 5k on Thursday morning and found a handful. I ended up settling for a race not 15 minutes from my house. However, I didn’t actually register for said race until Wednesday. I’m not sure if that’s because I wanted to allow myself the opportunity to back out, or if it’s because I was waiting for something better to come along, or what. You know, like when you won’t commit to an invitation someone has extended to you, because it doesn’t sound TOO fun, and you’re kind of hoping someone else extends an invitation to do something “better.” So, you just say something like, “Oh, let me look at my calendar, and I’ll get back with you.” But you purposely stall the “getting back with them” until you can attempt to arrange other plans. And then, when you DO finally call them back, you say something like, “Omg, I completely forgot about this OTHER thing I PROMISED I would do. I AM SO SORRY!” But, after you do this “other” thing instead of attending the original invitation, you didn’t have as much fun as you thought you would, and you wish you had just attending the original invitation.
And, is it even possible for a “better” 5k to come along? Is that like when you’re single and you’re waiting for a “better” man to come along? Can you even possibly relate a 5k and a man?
I digress. I registered Wednesday afternoon. Commited carbocide that night, along with a handful of peanut M&M’s, and awoke the next morning with mild trepidation. I remember years ago when I was in high school and racing 5k’s weekly. I was always so nervous right when I woke up. Not Thursday. I was so laissez faire about the entire affair. I hadn’t even set out my race clothes and breakfast the night before as I typically do. In fact, when I rolled out of bed at 7am, I just kind of “hung out” for 45 minutes until I left. I didn’t even eat breakfast. A huge “no-no” for me. Instead, I went through some catalogs that had come in the mail, I may have read Chloe’s blog, I did throw some things in a bag that I might need: gloves, hat, flip flops. Because those things actually DO go together in Colorado. At the last minute, I realized I didn’t know where I was going. So, I typed the address into my iPhone and finally, dressed and ready to go, I grabbed my bag and was out the door. I had high expectations for this race.
It was a sunny and warm 35 degrees as I pulled up to the neighborhood’s Community Center. Not to be confused with Senior Center. For having registered the day before, I was pleasantly surprised that they had my correct t-shirt size (S), though the nice lady behind the table said I should consider the Medium. I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not, but then again, I did have on a thick North Face fleece, as well as warm-up pants. When I asked if I could see the Small shirt, she took it out, held it up, and said, “Oh this will be fine, you seem tiny.” Lucky for her that she said that. And she doesn’t even know HOW lucky.
I enjoy the fact that it’s long sleeves. Goodness knows I have way too many SHORT sleeve cotton shirts that I’ll never wear. Now, I can start collected LONG sleeves cotton shirts that I’ll never wear.
After the shirt debacle, that literally lasted 10 seconds, but I drew out in this post to make it seem that it lasted much, much longer, I picked up my timing chip, in the form of a velcro anklet. Made my way back to my car and began my pre-warm up, pre-race rituals: crumble bib (I never race anymore with a stiff bib. Crumble that sucker up and it moves with you more freely*.), set out pins, turn Nimrag on so he can locate satellites, um, I think that’s it.
It was 8:10. Race was at 9. I decided to go ahead and leave for my warm-up. I did. I jogged an easy 10 minutes, with my gloves on my cold hands**. I knew I’d wear them. During the warm-up I felt heavy and “unraceable.” It could have been the layers I was wearing. I began thinking about realistic goals for myself. Hmmm. I had been 5k training with my kids during Cross Country season, but that’s been over for a few weeks. I’ve certainly been running since the season has been over, but haven’t done any speed. Great tempo runs. Great long runs. Maybe somewhere in the low 22’s. I’d be okay with that. Not happy. But okay. Think of this as a speed work out, a training run.
When I got back from the warm-up, I stretched really well, while I watched a girl doing what seemed like WAY TOO MANY stride outs. It was about 8:40am now, and I knew the start was 1/4 mile up the road, and I wanted to be there at about 8:50. I pinned my bib onto my shirt and velcro’d on the anklet. Nimrag is cleared and strapped onto my wrist. It’s warming up now, so I strip off the warm-up clothes, leaving them, and my gloves in the car. On my way to the start, I overhear one soccer mom, talking to another soccer mom, very matter-of-factly about how she races: “I typically take that first mile in the race just to warm up, and then race the final two.” I smirked, and under my breath said, “Or, you could actually warm up BEFORE the race, instead of warming up DURING the race.”
At the race start, Josh, from Redline Racing, who has helped direct some of our cross country races with his nifty timing system, announces that they are still registering runners and they would start as close to 9am as possible. Which really mean, “we’re not going to start the race at 9am because SOME people don’t have enough forethought to actually register for a race at least 30 minutes BEFORE the race actually starts.” In the meantime, he dashes everyone’s hopes of winning the race by telling us that of the 750 people who registered, we have elites among us. The American 25k record holder was there. But, since I don’t know if Fernando Cabada was really there, I can’t confirm or deny this statement. Offical results pending. But, the first row of runners DID look rather fast. Also overheard at the start line, a group of guys talking about who would be pacing which miles: “I’ll take that last mile. What, about a 12 minute pace?” Laughs. Same wiseguy: “Where should we meet at the end? How about the med tent? There has to be a med tent.” Giggles.
Josh moves us back a few paces to “the tree.” The official starting location. I’m still not nervous. At 9:05 ish, “On your mark, get set, gobble gobble,” starts the race.
Mile 1
Though I was up toward the front of the pack, and off to the side (my favorite starting spot), I still weave a bit through the hopefuls. I surprisingly find my breathing rhythm and cadence rather quickly, but the slight downhill makes me question my pacing. “It’s just 3 miles,” I keep telling myself. And then just as quickly, I tell myself, “But conserve and save something for mile 3!” I was feeling good during the entire mile, but knew mile 2 was looming. Mile 2 is always the toughest for me in a 5k.
Mile 1 pace: 6:48
Mile 2
Here she is, mile 2. Just as expected, she’s the tough one. I decide to chunk this measly mile into halves. I know it will go quickly. But, then again, most of this mile is uphill. I tackle them all with ease. And by ease, I mean heavy breathing, quick steps, exaggerated arm swinging, grimacing, spitting, etc. Nonetheless, I may have passed a few people on those hill surges. Thank you CC team for running hills every week. As we round a corner, I can see the runners ahead of me and I try to count the number of females I see. 4? 5? By the end of this mile, I hurt. And, my stomach feels, um, unsettled.
Mile 2 pace: 7:08
Mile 3
Final mile. I love this final mile. You’re so close to the finish, but you can still do some damage. To your time. To yourself. To others. I’m feeling another slight downhill and I take advantage of it. I open up, lengthen my stride. By 2.5, I really feel like I could stop for a liquid scream. I toughen up, tackle the next 1/2 mile, all the while willing myself to NOT sing a rainbow.
Mile 3 pace: 6:46
Mile .10
I’ve been running “next to” a guy who clearly does NOT WANT TO BE BEATEN BY A GIRL. So, when I see the Finish line, I give what’s left, surge, and pass him. Because that’s just the way I am. I cross the line. Look at my watch and nearly leggo my eggo when I see my time.
Nimrag time: 20:48
Chip time: 20:49***
Overall pace: 6:42
I see a couple of girls ahead of me, congratulate them, and ask how many other females have crossed the line. One of them mentions 2-3 names.
I know awards are at 10:15, and I’m debating on whether or not to stay for them. It feels a little presumptuous to stay, not knowing if I’m really going to be in the top 3 of my age group, in which case I would medal. Contemplating, I snack on my post-race treats of yogurt, granola, banana, veggie burrito, water, etc., go to my car, grab my fleece, shuffle, and off I go for a 10 minute cool down. Stretch. By now, it’s nearly 10am, and I hope that results are posted so I can see if it’s worthwhile to stay for awards or not. Results are not posted. I continue to debate with myself. An inner delimma. On one hand, is it snotty and presumptuous to stay for awards because I THINK I may have medaled? On the other hand, if I DID medal, it would have been worth it to stay, get my hardware, and have something to be tangibly proud of, other than my stellar time. In the end, I donned my flip flops (I knew I’d wear them), and I stayed.
The awards ceremony started out with 30 minutes of raffle prizes. At 10:50, they began awards. When they announced that the winner of my age group (20-29) ran a 19:50, I thought surely there would have/could have been a runner or two between her time and mine. A full minute. Then, I hear my name being called for 2nd place. I walk on weak legs to the front, Josh hands me my medal, and a cloud carries me out of the building.
Overall results are pending. I’ll post my standings soon enough.
*Useless tip #217, from Carpeviam. You’re welcome.
**I added, “my cold hands” because I hate ending sentences with a preposition. Sometimes, I will randomly add words so that my sentences don’t end with them.
***My high school PR was 20:10. I’m 11 years older and 40 seconds off of my PR. Holy 5k’s!
This post was entirely too long. I’ll write another about what I did after the race. Hold your breath…
“ Xenia
