On Thanksgiving morning, my friend and I ran the 21st Annual Seniors First Turkey Trot in downtown Orlando. As the morning wore on, I was pretty sure, from the events that had so far transpired that I was going to find myself face first on the brick pavers before I hit mile 1. Luckily, I did not.
I had set my alarm the night before to go off at 5:30AM, so that I had ample time to get up, have a leisurely cup of coffee, feed the dogs, have breakfast, and then head out at 6:45. I was supposed to meet my friend at 7:15, and then we’d carpool to the race. Instead, I got a text message at 6:34AM from my friend that woke me instead of the alarm clock. I blame this on poor planning, and not getting into bed before midnight because I was out having too much fun. In a mad dash, I threw my clothes on, let the dogs out to pee, and ran out the door with a banana, and a tablespoon of peanut butter clenched between my teeth.
I had recently been downtown to visit a bank there, so on my way to find parking I remembered seeing parking spots on this little side street, not far from where we needed to go. It looked like no one else knew about this little street. Shortly after we parked, they blockaded the road, so luck was with me. This seemed like the better option than paying for the parking garage. We scoured my car for coins to pay the meters, and had enough for 1 hour and 41 minutes. Considering it was 45 minutes to race time, I thought we had enough in there, but it would be close. After I paid the meter, and attached my number to the front of my shirt, I grabbed my house keys, iPod and phone off the top of my car. No car keys. Anywhere. I had locked us out, so much for luck.
Luckily, I had a spare that I actually knew the location of, so I phoned my mom, at 7:20 in the morning, to ask her to drive the 30 minutes to drop that off to me. I still haven’t found my original keys.
I was over dressed for the race. I had a tank top underneath a long sleeved shirt. When I took off the long sleeved shirt at the car it was freeeezing, so I put it back on. By the time we were ready to race, I was already well aware that the long sleeved shirt was a mistake. I knew better. Dress for 10 degrees warmer. I should have heeded that advice.
The race was fun, if not slightly harder than it needed to be due to my layering. I would have taken the shirt off if my number hadn’t been securely fastened to it. I ran solid for the first mile and a half, pacing with the crowd pretty well. There was a pair up ahead of me that had made a HUGE aluminum foil fork and spoon, and had strapped them to their bodies. I kept my eye on them for a while, but soon, they outran me. I walked intermittently after that, slowing to a fast walk whenever my heart rate reached or exceeded 184. I was really irritated by having to walk because in our weekly running we can both do the 5k easily, but I guess we also stop after each mile (each lap) to get water, and I guess inadvertantly that also allows us to run the next mile.
When I finally saw the 3 mile marker, it was time to run like I meant it. I’d tried to pace it so that by the time I reached that point, I’d have my HR back down to a non-lethal rate. My friend and I agreed we had to run the last stretch, down the chute - no exceptions. So I ran down along with everyone else, but I was spent, and it was harder than ever. I wanted to slow to a fast walk with every step, but the people along the side of the street cheering us on kept me motivated enough to push through it. I soared through the finish at 33:44, my heart in my throat, on the verge of being violently ill. ‘Take deep breaths’ I told myself, as I walked along through the throng of people. ‘Don’t puke’ on repeat in my brain.
My friend came in behind me a minute and a half later, with the same mantra. After a minute or two of walking around in search of water and a banana we got the post-run high. And that's the whole point of the race, isn't it?
There’s another run in 5 days. Who’s in?
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