Old Man Running

So this morning I ran a race. Well, it was called a race, and I participated in it. And I finished it. And I even beat some people. And I was real tired when I got done. So I guess it actually was a race.

There’s a reason I hesitate to call it a race, though. It’s because I still haven’t gotten used to this “old man running” thing. I mean, I finished in 27:08, which honestly was way better than I thought I would, so I’m not complaining. But back in the day, I would watch people run 27 minutes for a 5k, and wonder how they could possibly be so slow? Yeah, I know, I was young and foolish. But now that I’m old and foolish, I know how slow I must have looked this morning.

But there were some victories in the race. First of all, I beat all of the walkers, so that’s a good thing! And while the results aren’t posted yet, I’m pretty sure I finished in the middle of the pack for the runners, so like I said, I’m not complaining. But I used to really RUN. The gun would go off, and I would take off so fast I’d be at the mile mark before I realized I was tired (OK, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.) Now, about 30 years later, my races aren’t anything like that. Nope, not even close.

But in my mind, I’m just cranking. During the last mile, I caught 5 people who had been pretty far ahead of me. I could feel myself almost “sprinting, or hopefully “gliding,” or at least “striding.” But I’m sure it looked a little different. I don’t think I’m quite at a shuffle yet, but give me a few years!

The worst part of the race? Right about the .75 mile mark, this little kid passed me, maybe 12 or 13 years old. I could tell he wasn’t a runner, and I knew he’d start to walk. Well, when he got about 20 yards in front of me, he did just that. That’s the good news. The bad news is, that while he was walking and I was running, I wasn’t really gaining on him! Ugh. But eventually I did get by him.

The best part of the race? Well, the finish of course, passing those people. Except I think I kinda blew it. As I turned the final corner with about 150 yards, to go, there was a guy about 10 yards ahead of me. I knew that I should go after him, just because. (Mitch would!) Well, I didn’t, then I didn’t some more, and then with about 30 yards left, I broke into my sprint (or maybe a fast shuffle!) and started to catch him. But I didn’t want to sneak up on him and pass him at the line; that seemed kinda poor-sport-ish of me. So instead I yelled at him “I'm coming!” Like three times. I figured he’d take off. Instead, he just moved aside and let me pass him. I was trying to be nice and give him some warning, but I’m sure that when I said “I’m coming” he took it as “I’m coming you little twit, and I’m going to run your worthless butt into the ground you wretched scum.” Or something like that. He probably thinks I’m the biggest jerk in the world. Sorry.

I even wore the Sandbagger colors. And was recognized by them, which is always cool. Sandbaggers are famous around here, apparently.

OK, but back to this “Old Man Running” thing. No, I’m not used to it yet. I still can’t believe how slow my normal runs are. But while I don’t really accept it, I’m not ashamed of it either. Yes, I know my “strides” are more like “shuffles.” And yes, I run about 3 minutes per mile slower than I used to. And no, I’ll never get another PR. But slow as it may be, and as “Old Man Running” as I look, the good thing is: I’m still running.

And for that, I’m incredibly grateful.