And I Ran. . .

I ran so far away.  And I ran, I ran all night and day.

Well, not really. Not all night, not all day. Just for a portion of the morning.  And I was only about six miles away, in the village.  Not so far away.

You see, yesterday I ran a 5k.  My first ever.  It started about a year ago as a "hmm, I wonder if I could do that" when my weekly "run" went from 1 mile to 2 miles.  When I realized that if I could run two miles, maybe eventually I could work up to three miles,  and that three miles was pretty much the distance of a 5k.

At the time, my "run" was more like different-gait-from-a-walk-but-not-much-faster-than-a-brisk-walk for 3/4 to 1 mile, then break to a walk, panting for another 1/4 mile before changing gears upward again to a 'run' for another 1/3 to 1/2 mile, then walk again before my heart exploded or I passed out. . .

So a 5k was kind of a pipe dream.  Yet, it stuck in my mind and all summer I pushed to gradually go further, gradually go longer before walking.  By the end of the summer, I had done that three miles of run-walk-run-walk-run a few times.  Over the winter I tried to do at least two miles once a week either outside or indoors on the treadmill. It usually ended up being inside with the treadmill, which I find entirely unmotivating.

Early this spring, I went back outside and back to the entire distance, starting with running a whole mile before I broke to a walk.  In April, I ran two whole miles before I had to walk.  Then I ran 2.5 miles before walking.  Then I printed off the form for the local Memorial Day 5k, filled it out, wrote a check for the entry fee, and mailed it in.

And I got serious.  I trained.  Sort of.  I went from going on my 'run' once a week, to running twice a week.  Some weeks I threw in a third 'run', but made it shorter: a brisk 1 mile (done in about 9 minutes), or two miles at a pace faster than what I usually was running my first 2 miles before breaking to a walk.  I set a goal to run all 3.1 miles. No walking allowed. Then I started loosely timing myself when I ran.  I say loosely because it was using the stopwatch setting on my cell phone, starting it just before laying the phone on the bumper of my truck which was parked at the garage, then walking to the end of the driveway, running my 5k distance ending at the driveway, walking back up the driveway, then stopping the stopwatch when I again reached the bumper of the truck at the garage.  My driveway is over 400 feet long, so that beginning warm-up walk and ending cool-down walk added distance and time to the 3.1 miles.  Not extremely accurate, but it gave me a way to gauge how I was doing.

I set another goal.  Not just run all 3.1 miles without having to stop for a walk break, but to run it in  35 minutes or less.

So I showed up for the local 5k yesterday morning.  The sky was overcast. The air was chilly, about 50 degrees, with a light wind.  I was dressed in shorts and a short sleeve shirt, having decided that the 50's was too warm to run in my winter leggings.  I knew I'd be plenty warm enough, sweaty even, while I ran.  It was afterward that I would get chilly.  So I brought pants and a fleece to throw on when I had passed the finish line, stretched, and cooled down.

I checked in, got my number, stretched, warmed up, and then lined up with the 82 other 5k participants.  The race started, I turned on my mp3 player, hit my stride, and I ran.  I ran. I ran.  I ran at the pace I'd practiced for the past three weeks.  I passed some people.  Some people passed me.  I no longer felt the chill of the wind, my body was warm and my legs looked a bit flushed with the blood pumping through them.

At the 1 mile mark, I heard "Nine minutes forty-four seconds" as I ran by.  I passed an old guy.  A little later, he put on a burst of speed and passed me.  He looked to be about seventy, but he apparently wasn't about to let some middle-aged broad beat him.

At the 2 mile mark, I was running a stride behind a different guy, this one roughly the same age bracket as me and not nearly as wiry looking as old guy running  man.  I heard "Twenty-two minutes, fourteen seconds" as I passed the race volunteer calling out our times.

At two and three quarter miles, I could see the finish line up ahead.  The pack of runners had thinned to pretty much single file instead of groups of two or three as it had been between miles one and two.  There were gaps between runners larger than just a few strides now.  I picked up my pace.

The end of the race was on the high school track.  The track where for years I'd watched DS2 run sprints and relays.  When my feet hit that track, I upped the speed again.  I thought about DS2 racing out of the starting blocks for his 100 meter competitions for four straight years.

In the last 100 meters, I switched gears to a dead run. I pushed harder than I ever had.  My feet pounded the track.  Blood rushed in my ears. The wind rushed past me.  I was locked on to the red flags at the finish line and I was a missile headed for them.  I flew.

I crossed the finish line and saw some of DS2's old high school track teammates.  They gave me a thumbs up.  One said "You're a machine!"  A huge compliment from a young man who has ran  track in college for the past two years.  I felt pride at finishing, and finishing strong.

I cooled out, stretched, got a water and a banana (ahhh, potassium!  No leg cramps here.)  I put on my pants and my fleece, then waited for all the runners to come in and for the official times and results to be announced.  I wanted to know if I had met my goal, if I had finished in less than 35 minutes.

I did.  34:19.  Good enough for 3rd place in my age bracket for women.  Good enough to be 40th out of 82 overall.

I ran.  Not bad for a 41 year old mother of 4 and grandmother of 1.  Not bad for a middle aged broad who didn't run at all two years ago.

I ran.  :0)