What goes through a runner’s brain during a five-kilometer race? From start to finish it’s pretty fascinating. Here’s what I spent my 3.1 miles thinking about as I ran the Matanzas 5K in St. Augustine, the first race I’ve done since an injury almost a year ago:
At the Starting Line: It’s cold. I’m tired. I’m standing there in skimpy running shorts and the only thing going through my mind is how my legs must look like knobby pretzel sticks or hairy telephone poles. That’s it. That and how I paid good money to be packed in like cattle for a sport that I could just as easily go do for free.
The starting gun goes off. Actually it’s a cannon. They fire off a freakin’ cannon! For the life of me I can’t understand why. There are thirteen hundred runners out here, all of whom drank too much this morning and desperately need to pee. The last thing your poor bladder needs is a cannon to scare the bejesus out of you.
Yet we run, some of us a little wet.
The First Mile: The adrenaline starts kicking in. I try to get around a guy pushing a Baby Jogger and another guy who looks like he might be playing a game of chess. I decide to jump up on the sidewalk, miss the curb completely and nearly get acquainted with a sewer grate. I opt for patience, which lasts all of 12 seconds.
A little kid charges past me. I make a mental note that it would be shameful to be beaten by him. But I’ve lived with shame before and he looks fast. So I scratch the mental note about him and look for easier prey — maybe a lady carrying a chihuahua.
Things start to thin out and I’m feeling good. I’m passing people and I’m setting a nice pace.
The Second Mile: How quickly the adrenaline goes. As does my good humor and the quick pace I set. It occurs to me I may have run the first mile too fast. To make matters worse, I don’t like the way the guy next to me is breathing. He’s huffing and puffing. He sounds like bagpipes or an unbalanced cement mixer. It throws off my rhythm and my concentration. I start wondering weird things like why there aren’t eggs Benedict or omelet stations in the race. That sure would beat water. I begin to fear I’m doomed.
It isn’t long before I’m wondering whether I could pull off a stealthy dive into the bushes where I could hide until the race is over. Only problem is my wife and daughter are waiting for me around mile 2 1/2 and I promised my little girl I would be running fast.
The Third Mile: I can see my daughter and my wife ahead. Or it’s a mirage and I’m losing consciousness. That would certainly explain the large elephant and the train being driven by the leprechaun. They’re waving — the wife and the kid. They look so excited and proud. I figure this would be a really bad time to throw up. It’s not the image I want burned in my girl’s brain. I try to look cool and wave. I fear I look like someone who has just been struck by lighting. My daughter smiles as I go by. I see a police officer ahead — I wonder if he has a cookie.
Coming into the Finish Line: My legs wanted to quit, but I willed them to keep moving. That’s the key to running. My pace quickens and as I turn the final corner I can see the clock. It’s just ticking off 20 minutes and I’m actually right where I wanted to be. How did I pull that off? As I cross the line I feel good. I feel alive. I feel like I’m back on track, just in need of more training. And for that guy to stop shooting off the cannon when I’ve got a full bladder.