5-Mile Running Race

Since it snowed last Thursday, our Sheepherders Running Club series race was postponed until this Wednesday. And wouldn't you know it, Wednesday morning started off with a pretty good rainstorm. Waterton canyon, where we run the races, is a dirt road; and dirt roads get muddy during a good rainstorm. The race would be held...but I wasn't sure if I wanted to slog through the muck.

But the sun came out in the afternoon, and conditions appeared to be tolerable at race time, so I went down to the canyon and changed into my running clothes. I could always bail out if the road looked too gooey for my Felix Unger attitude, right?

I strapped on my water bottle belt, and headed over to the picnic tables where the races are organized. The road appeared to be dry enough that I might be able to do the run without soiling my new shoes too badly, so I signed in and got ready to run. It's a handicap series, which means that each runner is assigned a start time based on their predicted finish, calculated from the results of other races. If everyone hits their prediction, we would all cross the finish line at the exact same time, regardless of speed.

The handicap system puzzles me. Or perhaps I am puzzled by my own lack of running endurance. But whichever it is, the fact remains that I am never able to hit my predicted time. The time-forecasting algorithm assumes that your per-mile pace will get slower as the distance increases (which makes perfect sense), and it seems to be fairly accurate for the other runners. But while most of the others cross the line within moments of each other, I fall further and further behind as the races get longer. I am almost always dead last (or very close to it) in any of the handicap races.

It's not as if I don't run long enough distances in my training. Most weeks, I'll have at least one training run of 10 miles or more, so I would think that a 5-miler would seem pretty short. And in swimming, well, the longer the race is, the better I seem to do in comparison to the other competitors; so why do I fade so badly in handicapped footraces?

Theory: I tighten up as the distance increases, due to lack of proper stretching, which causes my stride to get very weird indeed. (This theory is corroborated by numerous eyewitness accounts, by the way.) Recommended solution: Stretch more, do yoga, get massages, undergo accupuncture, or try some exotic drugs. Implementation: These solutions require either money or self-discipline, and I have very little of either.

Theory: The other runners are using strategy to ensure better results throughout the series. A less tactful person than I might refer to this tactic as "sandbagging", but I will describe it as "distance-proportional effort increase". Recommended solution: Run slower in the shorter races, so the times predicted by the handicap algorithm will be easier to achieve. Implementation: No way, Jack! I go all-out, all the time -- it is constitutionally impossible for me to slow down in order to add margin to my next race starting time. I just can't do it. (Translation: I have no sense of running pace, and so even if I tried to slow down in the earlier races, I'd probably just blow it. Sigh.)

Theory: I'm just not cut out to be a runner, so I should give up running and stick to swimming. Recommended solution: Give up running and stick to swimming. Implementation: This idea definitely has merit, but runners are SO cool...and I want to be like them. I don't think I can give it up until I receive doctor's orders to do so. (This IS a distinct possibility, though, so stayed tuned.)

Theory: It takes time to develop the endurance and pacing required to do longer distances. I've been working on my distance pacing in swimming for about 40 years now, so naturally it's going to come easier than a sport in which I have so much less experience. Recommended solution: Continue to work on pacing. Do more pace-oriented workouts. I should structure my running program with the same focus and discipline that I apply to my swimming. Implementation: Quit whining and start working at it. (Oh, and by the way, now that that I've had this epiphany about how long it takes to learn good pacing, I should be more sympathetic to swim team members who are struggling with the same issues in the pool. Cut 'em some slack, dude!)

Anyway, the weather for the race was quite pleasant; even though there were some rain sprinkles during the last half of the race, the temperature & breeze were about as good as a person could ask for. My speed was erractic, due partly to my intermittent hamstring tightness, and partly to the fact that my water bottle fell out of the belt at one point, and I had to go back to get it. (My friends tell me I don't need to carry a water bottle for a 5-mile race when it's below 60° outside. But I tell them that I still get thirsty. Then they tell me that I wouldn't get thirsty if I didn't breathe with the frenzied gasping of a hyperventilated charging rhino. I tell them to shut up and mind their own business.)

Being one of the slower runners, I started earlier than most of the folks. And nearly all of them passed me between the 3 and 4 mile marks. It's a friendly group, and I received many encouraging words as runners sped past me as if I were standing still. But it's still discouraging to start down the final straightaway and see all the other runners standing around the picnic tables, eating bon bons, drinking wine, and discussing Nietzsche. (Well, OK, they weren't really eating and drinking...but my lungs are bursting and feet are on fire, and I can see all these people looking so...relaxed. It's frustrating.)

Overall though, I was reasonably pleased with my time, and felt that I had gotten a good workout. I completed the race without hurting myself, falling on my face, or getting too grotesquely muddy. I went home, ate some nachos, and took a nice hot bath. Can't complain about that at all, can I?

I hope your efforts in whatever you did yesterday ended as well as that.

Have a great day!