I realize that I am quickly entering the period of life in which the things I want to do greatly outnumber the things that I will eventually do. In light of this fact, I’ve been attempting to take a little better care of myself. I’ve cut down on the soda and have been trying to follow the C25K running program. I understand that good diet and exercise isn’t for everyone. Some take the bent that we will all eventually expire anyway, why not enjoy life while you can. And I fully agree that health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die, however, there are plenty of things I’d like to stick around and enjoy with my family. I’d also like to enjoy it while standing on my own two feet and without the aid of a respirator.
When my sweet niece, Alexandra, found out that I was trying to get ready for a 5K, she invited me to run one with her. I cautioned her that I was fairly certain we wouldn’t get first place, but if she was OK with that, I’d try. She said that wasn’t a problem, and so I began to use the ensuing weeks to prepare for our run. Well, that’s not entirely true. A lot of life happened in those few months, and I found myself going for weeks at a time without making it to the gym. I didn’t completely give up on my training, however, and was approaching a 35 minute 5K. I was actually feeling pretty good about myself until about a week before the race when my brother-in-law called. “Did I tell you what Alex did the other day,” he asked in the middle of the conversation. “She ran a 20 minute 5K!”
“Are you serious,” I asked, fervently hoping I had misheard him. “Yes,” he said, “twenty minutes.”
This was not a good thing, in my estimation. If current figures held, that would place me about the halfway point when she should be crossing the finish line. I didn’t want to hold her back like that, so I explained the reality of the situation to her. Yet, she still wanted me to come up and do the run.
So…a week later I found myself in northwest Arkansas, heading to the starting line. During that short walk, I noticed that a lot of the runners were wearing the same shirts. I made a comment about it and found out that I was actually going to be in a ‘Girls On The Run’ event. I would like to be able to say that I’m a mature man, completely comfortable with my abilities, leaving no room for prideful ego to get the better of me. I would like to say that, but I can’t. Up to this point, I had satisfied myself with the goal of not coming in last place. Now that I knew it was an all girls event, and for 3rd through 5th graders no less, I was absolutely terrified of coming in last place. How would a 35 year old man recover from that kind of shame and humiliation? I could almost see a small pack of girl scouts dragging my lifeless body across the finish line.
Despite my fears, we got on the track, stretched, sang the National Anthem, and the gun fired. We were off! I kept a decent pace with Alex for about a half mile, which would have been great if this were not a 3.1 mile course. It was at this point where I began a run/walk routine that would dictate our speed for the rest of the race. Alex was very gracious and refused to leave my side. She was encouraging and coached me for the remainder of the time. It was extremely helpful.
What was not helpful was every third lady shouting “Let’s Go Girls!” every time they passed us. I don’t know, it might have helped Alex, it just twisted the knife in my ego. What really got to me, though was that one chick who kept saying, “Come on! You can do it,” as she sprinted by us on her bicycle. “Of course I could do it…*huff huff*…if I had a bicycle too…*huff huff*,” I said between gasps of air. I fully intended to closthline the woman and steal her ride if she came peddling by again…she never did.
On we went, and with little less than a quarter of a mile to go, I finally convinced Alex to leave me and sprint for the finish line. We did not come in last, in fact, we were probably in the top 25%, and completed the race in a little over 37 minutes.
I was glad that I did it, but even more glad that it was over. Like any other intense physical activity, the real pain did not come for a day or so. But when it did, it was in heaping bucket loads. I swung my legs over the side of the bed that next morning and wept. It’s an event that I’ll remember for a long, long time {the run, not the weeping}. =P
Good Job! You did it! Enjoyed reading the story....!
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