Fumbling My Chance

I stand in awe and dismay as the metro that is supposed to take me half an hour away to my race just goes right through the station without stopping. Every so often the metro cars will be 'no passenger' in DC, and it was just my stupid luck that it happened to be this one.

This train would have put my 2 blocks from the start line at 9:15am, a solid 45min before the start of the race. The next yellow line train that will take me to the same place won't come for another half an hour, and I can't wait that long. I grab the Green line, pop out about halfway between where I started and the course, and grab a cab.

Traffic traffic traffic traffic and suddenly I'm there. 9:50am. Shit.

I pay, run through the thousands of people waiting for the bathroom, into the gym, grab my bib number, and sprint to the starting line. 9:54am. I cut my warm up clothes off, throw my flats on, and briskly jog along, trying to warm up and pin my number on at the same time.

shit shit shit I don't have time to warm up! It's okay its a perfect day, just go with it the race is 5 miles you can work into it. Don't worry you'll be fine remember the plan

They have us stand at the line just before 10am, sing the national anthem, get some remarks from everyone and their god damn dog involved with the process. It's 10min past start time and they haven't let anyone move. Stupid race directors. I should've used this time to keep jogging, regardless of what they were saying.

As the gun goes I stretch out, light from having a couple recovery days but stiff from not warming up. I slide in behind a couple Kenyans and let them do the work. They're here to win money and are undoubtedly faster than I am, I just want a fast time.

The first mile is pancake flat. I don't see any mile marker but I see we've been running 6 min so it's well behind us. The road turns down softly, and I get left behind by a few guys as the group splits, leaving me and one other guy together.

I see the 2mile mark approaching. It's literally a guy with an orange vest standing on the side of the road waving a flag that says '2miles.' Ridiculous, I know. So ridiculous in fact that I don't check my watch until we're just past him by 10 meters or so. 9:59, maybe a few ticks faster at the 2mile.

The road continues downward and I'm in no mans land. I hit the turn around and I'm tightening up Jesus this is painful, stretch out you're slowing down stretch out

I turn and head back up the way I came and I'm dying a slow, slow death. My legs just will not respond to me. They're feeling the first two miles and I'm in a territory I haven't been in in over a year. I'm pushing back up, probably past 3 miles now. I don't know. I'm barely moving.

All I can think is that I should just drop out, I'm going to be nowhere near the time I want. But I know I'm not going to, I didn't train this hard to drop out of a race, regardless of how hard I'm tanking the 4th mile.

I lose track of where I am. Someone says there's half a mile to go. Someone else says there's a mile to go. Eventually the road flattens out and I see the finish, a long long way off.

I'm confused. There's race pain but my vision is getting blurry. This is new, it's like I'm wearing blinders. I try to wipe the sweat away but nothing happens. Slowly I can't see much of anything, all I can do is run and hope there's not a hole to rip my ankle off

I cross the line in 27low. 27:09? It doesn't matter. I absolutely blew up.

I lay on the grass as thousands of people stream across the line over the course of the next half hour. It's all just a swirl, the conversation in my head isn't one of anger, or disappointment, just sadness.

I'm sad I missed the opportunity to run well. I know I'm fit, I know I'm capable of far better, I just went out and tried to be a hero on my first race back. Dying a slow death is the most painful way to run, and lord that death march will haunt my legs for months to come.

I don't know how fit I am, but I'm fitter than that. I wonder what would have happened if I tried to run 25:30 or 25:50 instead of 24:50. Maybe I would have run faster, maybe I would've died just the same.

I sit here, 6 weeks away from heading back to school, 6 months away from conference championships and 7 months away from NCAAs. I don't know what to expect, but all I can do is train the best way I know how and hope for the best.

Hopefully I won't pull this shit again. All I can do is learn from it and move on, I suppose.