When the Worst Week Becomes the Best Week

After the St. Peter’s Fiesta 5K I began the task of recovering from my Jumper’s Knee and sore left Achilles.  It was the heat of summer but I tended to run inside more.  My reasoning was that if any sort of re-injury happened I was at the gym and could simply step off the treadmill and leave. 

I had found a way to ‘cheat’ my way back to training while also healing.  It was by using a very slow ‘burn.’  I began with a very slow 5mph jog, upping the speed .1 every minute or so.  Once I got to 6mph I upped it .1 every 2 minutes.  By the time I hit 7mph, right about where I liked to run I had been on the treadmill usually about 20 minutes and my legs were warmed up.  It worked and I noticed the pain lessening despite still running.

Gradually I worked my way back outside, which included a 5 mile run in 90 degree heat and humidity.  I got home and thought I might have gotten some color when in reality I was a deep shade of purple from being close to heat exhaustion.  I survived that run and with my confidence returning I was asked to run the Irish Pub Race in Harwich, a 5.2-mile race.  Of course I accepted.

There was not a lot of time to do any sort of specific training for the race.  There were a lot of people crammed in the area along the Herring River on race day but I was still able to find a spot to stretch and think by myself.  I knew that my friend James, known as Tuna then, J-Bone now, was running the race as well but I did not go out of my way to find him.  Once I get in my zone before a race I hate to be bothered.  Is anyone else like that?

The early-August morning was overcast, temps in the upper-70’s, and humid.  Not wanting to sweat in my eyes I wore a thin white skull cap to keep the sweat at bay.  I started the 5-mile race fast, a problem I am still having trouble overcoming.  It can be difficult to pace yourself when the rush of the starting gun takes over.

I took off and was enjoying a good run through some hilly roads.  About 2 miles in I began to get hot.  The skull cap keeping the sweat from my eyes also kept the heat from escaping.  I began to overheat and found myself slowed almost to a stop nearly 3 miles in.  Now, not having the proper equipment I had no idea as to what my time was at that moment.  My goal had been to finish the 5.2 miles in 40 minutes. 

Despite being overheated and gassed from starting so quickly I continued onto the finish.  I completed the race in 42 minutes, a good time no doubt, but disappointing for my harshest critic: myself.  I felt like I had sabotaged myself by wearing the skull cap and starting the race so fast.   I shared a beer with my friend James inside the Irish Pub once he finished the race but in the back of my mind all I could think about was the dreaded ‘what if’s.’  I hate ‘what if’s.’

Once I got home I put the Irish Pub Race to bed and looked for another race to wash the bad taste out of my mouth.  Everyone kept telling me that I ran a good race but it was of no consequence.  Luckily I found another race only 5 days later.  I signed up and prepared for what I hoped would be a sort of redemption.  The Old Home Week Race in Centerville was only a 3-mile run, I did not run in between the races so that my legs would be as fresh as possible.

This race was the first time that my mother got to see me run.  She came along with my Aunt Kelly and cousin Keith who had already become the prodigy as far as running in the family before finishing high school.  I had hoped that my good friend, and running mentor, Emily could have been there to run with me but she did wish me good luck in a text.  I politely said my goodbyes to my mom and aunt and went off to the end of the beach parking lot where the race started and finished.  I needed to get into my Beast Mode.  I began to stretch using the sand dunes to my advantage.  It was during this time that I noticed for the first time in nearly 2 months I had no pain at all in either leg.  My Jumper’s Knee was healed finally.  This coupled with my own desire to get ‘redemption’ for my self-proclaimed ‘poor race’ made me realize this was going to be a hell of a race.

I could barely contain myself at the starting line and when the gun sounded I let it all hang out.  My cousin Keith was gone out of sight pretty fast, but this was not about winning for me.  This was about beating myself, putting to bed the Irish Pub Race, and leaving every ounce of energy on those roads.

It was lucky for me that the race was in the late afternoon, I was pouring sweat but the wind off the ocean kept me from overheating.  It was all falling into place.  Has anyone had a race where every single thing goes right?  That was what the Old Home Week Race was for me.  I approached the home stretch, my legs were tired but not in pain.  I kept chugging along waving to my mother and aunt as I approached the finish line.

I laid it all out there as I made my final push.  Much to my surprise, and to put a capper on an almost perfect race, there was Emily at the finish line.  She had made the 15 minute drive from Yarmouth to Centerville and cheered as I crossed the finish line.  I had finished in 21:34, 7:11/mi. 

First I dropped in exhaustion then I let out a nice profanity-laced rant expressing my happiness at my redemption.  Needless to say my mother was not thrilled with my ‘colorful’ language, but it was a primal release for me.  I had never felt as good as I did at that moment after feeling so low only a few days before.  There was no pain after running, only the complete exhilarating exhaustion that comes from knowing you did your absolute best.  For the record my cousin Keith finished 2^nd overall, finishing in a sparkling 17:14, 5:45/mi.

I had done what I had set out to do and with my 3^rd and 4^th races down I knew that there was only one thing for me to do.  I needed to step it up and try my hand at my first Half Marathon.  Have any of you ever run what you feel to be a ‘perfect race?’  Have any of you been motivated to sign up for another race quickly after running a poor one?

Off in the dunes at Covell Beach where I got into Beast Mode

Waiting at the starting line in Centerville.

In the midst of my profanity-laced celebration, mom was so proud of the race, not my language.

Getting ready to go.