Whoo Hoo!

I made it! We did the "Run the Republic" stairclimb event on Sunday. It was a lot of fun...mainly because I did much better than I expected to. Results are posted online.

Everyone on our team did well, and I really enjoyed their enthusiasm and encouragement. It was a real kick to sit around before our start time and watch people eat Gu-packs, lace and relace their shoes, and go to the bathroom a dozen times. And once the women's bathroom got too crowded, there were even a few ladies who brazenly sauntered into the men's room to use the facilities without having to wait. (Probably Europeans.)

Then there's the cheerful banter among friends, the steely-eyed concentration people put into queuing up their specially-designed-for-racing iPod playlist, and the always-popular pastime of checking around to see if anybody's wearing a t-shirt from a race that you've also done. It's fun!

They had the music and the race announcer's voice cranked up pretty loud around the starting queue, so once your start time had been called, you really couldn't carry on much more conversation. And in a surprisingly short time after entering the cattle pens, you find yourself staring at the start clock, waiting for the gatekeeper to clap you on the back to GO!

I don't think I've ever started a race before where I couldn't see at least part of the racecourse. The starting line is outside the stairwell, and since I'd never been in that particular stairwell before, I had no idea what it looked like. So when I got the tap on the shoulder, I turned the corner and plunged into the unknown.

My first thought was "Gee, this is kindof a crappy little stairwell." The stairs were narrow, and the handrails were made from ugly green square tubes instead of the stainless steel round type I'd been expecting. My second thought was "There's not much of a passing lane in here. There could be some traffic jams a-comin'." But it only took a floor or two for me to begin to appreciate the narrowness of the steps -- because I found that I could use both arms to grab rails and take some of the weight off my legs.

Having never gone more than about 6 flights up at one time during my training, I wasn't sure how the cumulative effect of unending ascent would affect my legs. To tell you the truth, I was half-expecting my quads to be burning with the pain of a thousand bonfires before I even got halfway up the 56 floors...so I tried really hard to keep a steady, but not too rapid pace.

The actual race is a bit of a blur, I'm sorry to say. I was concentrating on grabbing the rail and taking the next step; grabbing the rail and taking the next step, so I wasn't really tuned in to the environment. I was vaguely aware of the rumbling from the huge vent fans spaced every 10th floor or so, and I dimly appreciated the cheerleaders and pom-pom girls that were yelling encouragement on various landings. A couple of the folks I passed were kind enough to pull over and let me go by without having to squeeze to the outside, and I used what little air I had to gasp a quiet "thanks" as I went past. When I had to pass someone who didn't pull over, I used both arms on the outside rail and tried to switch to a 2-steps-at-a-time stride until I was safely in front of them.

When I could hear a faster climber coming up behind me, I did the same thing; I grabbed the outer rail and moved aside to let them have the inside lane. A couple of them seemed to be in a flat-out run, and went by me like I was standing still. But I don't think any of them were gasping any harder than I was. I suspect that the cheerleaders were tempted to call the paramedics, just because of the noises I was making -- but I actually felt pretty good.

I didn't want to sprint too soon, because I didn't want to run out of gas. But I figured that with about 3 floors to go, it would be safe to put the hammer down and try to run up the remaining stairs all-out, taking them two at a time. So when I reached floor 52, I mentally prepared myself to start the final sprint on the next level.

But when I reached floor 53, well...there was the finish line timing mat! What?? Puzzled, I stumbled across it and finished the race without a final sprint at all. My confused look must not have been unique, because one of the volunteers immediately said "You started 3 floors in the basement", which explained how a 56-floor event could end on the 53rd floor. Oh well...I decided to treat that as excellent news -- for two reasons. One, I was finished, and didn't have to go any higher. And two, it means that I should be able to go faster next year; I just have to start sprinting at the 50th floor!

As it was, though, I was deliriously happy with my finish time. Based on what others had told me about the race, I was anticipating something in the 12-minute range, and ended up finishing nearly 2 minutes faster than that. My quads weren't hurting, my knees had held up without complaint, and I could now have all the water I wanted to drink!

Of course, I did start coughing like a 1952 Studebaker, but so did everyone else. My friend Kim said that it's because of all the concrete dust kicked up in the stairwell, but whatever the cause, the 53rd floor sounded like a bubonic plague ward. No worries, though, even while their lungs spasmed, these folks had gigantic smiles on their faces. And as I said, our entire team did well. We posed for a team photo, then took the elevator down to cruise the vendor booths for a bit. Then we headed back to the pool for swim practice.

It was an excellent day, and even though it was a short race, we could all be proud of what we had done.

So maybe you should consider signing up next year, eh? I'll let you know when it's time to do that. In the meantime, try taking the stairs instead of the elevator -- and have a great day!