My Very First Race

My very first race was in late July of 2007. I had eased into running over the previous few months, as mentioned previously here on this blog. As I got into the running culture, I picked up some good books on running, got onto Runner's World and logged in my mileage, and then became curious about running a 5K. Could I actually run that far? Could I finish? That became my humble goal: to finish. So, I signed up for my first 5K run. And then I went into serious training. Getting in the miles, eating better, and looking forward to my first race.


When race day came, I was prepared as any novice could be. I had read the articles from RW, and from the books I had picked up. I had all my race gear lined up and ready to put on first thing. I had been hydrating during the week, and that morning I had plenty of water with my bagel and peanut butter.

July in Memphis is usually a brutally hot time of year. The heat and humidity makes it a tough place to run after about 8:00 in the morning. Well, as if the running gods were trying to give me every advantage possible, a cool front moved through the area on Friday night, leaving Saturday morning as crisp and cool as a day in October. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

The race started in front of the Pink Palace, a giant mansion built in 1922 by Clarence Saunders credited with creating the first self-service grocery store: Piggly Wiggly. He built the massive structure for his wife. The 36,500 square foot structure is made of pink Georgia marble blocks, hence the name: The Pink Palace. Currently it is a museum, planetarium and Imax Theater.

The energy of the crowd was addictive for me. I had never been around such a large group of athletic, and positive people in my life. There were other newbies like me, overweight and not as sleekly outfitted as the elite runners for sure. But, the overall energy of the crowd was palpable. I fed off of that energy; plus the nervous energy I brought with me to my first race. I was resigned to the fact that I would not win anything that day, but I felt just as much a part of the crowd, as the antelope looking shirtless, college-aged runners who were running sprints up and down Central Avenue warming up for the race.

As we headed out onto the street, maybe 500 to 600 runners, to start the race, I continued to think in terms of -just finishing, run the whole 5K and just finish. But then I noticed a guy in the crowd a few yards ahead of me in line. He was about 35, and he was significantly overweight. He had on a long beige cotton, plain -plain as in no swooshes, or any kind of logo t-shirt. His gray denim shorts went down over his knees, and his white socks went well over the ankles. And his shoes. They were leather basketball shoes. And then my competitive juices started flowing. All of a sudden, he was a marked man. Yes, I did want to finish, but I also had to beat this guy. I thought to myself: "I won't quit the sport if I can't beat this guy, but..."

So the siren sounded and off we went, up a grueling hill. But the cool breeze was in my face, and sun was hovering over my shoulder...and this was the most exhilarating thing I'd done in a long, long time. As we got to the top of the hill, I was getting concerned. I couldn't catch the big guy. He actually put some more distance between us. And in such a big crowd, before long I lost him entirely. "Well, so much for my new found goal," I thought to myself. I turned my thoughts to my original goal: just finish.

We ran through some of the most beautiful neighborhoods in Memphis. Large, older homes on large beautifully manicured lawns. But I didn't notice them. I was running hard to keep up with my little band of runners I had fallen into. My legs were heavy after a mile, and it was a struggle just to keep them moving forward. I concentrated on moving my knees forward, the rest of the leg had to follow. "Oh God," a water station! I slowed down, got some water, and got back into my pack. It was tough. My body was not accustom to running at this pace, for this length. But I kept pushing myself, trying to keep pace with my little group. I had no idea where the big fellow had gone, but at that point, I was just hoping to keep pace with my little group and not fall back, or have to walk.

We ran through the tree lined neighborhood with little groups of people, mostly families cheering us on, and spraying us down with garden hoses, or sprinklers set up by the street. I kept on pushing myself and trying to ignore the voice in my head that pleaded with me to slow down and just walk it out. And then after what seemed like 100 miles, we turned back onto Central Avenue from the East and we headed back towards the entrance to the Pink Palace. "The last stretch with the finish line in sight!" It was beautiful. I got a new burst of energy and I picked up my pace just slightly, but I did pass a few folks, but was passed by a few others myself as well.

I hurtled past the finish line, exhausted, sweat-drenched, and exhilarated. The race officials pointed me to a table with slips of paper which they told me to fill out. I put down my name, and age, with a trembling hand and then took the slip to another table that had little containers for each age division. By my clock I did the race in 34:45. When I put my slip of paper in the 45-49 bin, there was only one other slip in it. "Could I have placed?" I thought to myself. I had no idea what kind of race times were posted at these events. After all it was my first race. "Maybe I'm pretty good for my age group," I speculated. What a great story, I get a trophy on my very first race. Boston, here I come! This bit of optimism, combined with the runners high, had me feeling pretty good as I munched on a banana and drank a cool berry gatorade.

And then, as I was gathering around the finish line to cheer on the walking moms and dads with baby strollers, and the teams of walkers chatting away as if on a walk around the block, I spotted him rolling in, huffing and puffing; his shirt and shorts were so sweat soaked he looked like he had stopped somewhere along the way to go through a car wash: the big fellow himself. Somehow, somewhere along the route, I had passed him and didn't even notice. As it turned out, other than finishing the race itself, that would be my only victory. The winning times in my age division were in the low 20's, so my 34 minutes didn't threaten any current records.

As I was in my car, driving back home, I took very little solace in beating the big fellow. But, I did revel in the thrill of running my first 5K on a spectacular summer Saturday morning, with 600 of my fellow athletes and new found friends. It is something that has stayed with me over the course of a nice collection of race t-shirts and PR's. And that is one of the things I truly love about this sport: the PR is me racing against me. I don't have to single out anyone in the crowd to beat or surpass, except me. And as long as I can continue to compete against me, I know I will always win, with or without a trophy.