There's No Place Like Home (Plate)...ish

Today’s 5k involved, from a preparatory standpoint at least, running blind. In my two previous 5k’s, I had the opportunity to see the course map ahead of time, enabling me to scout the course in advance of the race. This procedure helps me psych myself up for the race, break down the course into nice bite-size pieces to help keep me from getting discouraged, and scope out the course for any challenges (especially hills). According to the Hudson-Mohawk Road Runners Club volunteer I spoke with at check-in, they’re limited in the number of attachments they can include for each race posting on their Web site, and the course map was the casualty of that limitation.

I love it when folks bring their dogs to 5k’s. It’s my tradition (call it sucking up to karma) to make sure I pet at least one dog (and, preferably, every dog) I see at a race. Today there were two: a silky terrier whose name I can’t remember (he was named after someone who used to play for the NY Giants…as if that helps, especially me) and an eight-month-old black lab puppy named Cody, who was very friendly but did not care for the music blaring from the DJ booth.

One of the nice side benefits of running 5k’s is the opportunity to meet new people and learn more about running and upcoming races. Today I met Roxanne, who is a member of both HMRRC and Albany Running Exchange (ARE), who would finish second in her age group (which also turned out to be my age group). Roxanne mentioned to me that HMRRC conducts outdoor races and race prep all winter long, mostly at the Harriman State Office Campus (near my home). Since I was looking for some additional incentive to get my heinie outside in a brutal Upstate New York winter (seriously, I was!), I joined HMRRC and will be joining ARE before too long.

But let’s not even think about winter! Back to today’s event. The day was sunny and warm, with temperatures at race time in the mid- to upper 70s, comfortable levels of humidity, and a nice light breeze. This was the fourth annual Valley Cats Home Run 5k. It was also the smallest group of runners I’ve encountered to date: 311 people finished the race. I didn’t cross the finish line first; nor did I cross it 311th; but I did cross it. More on that later.

The race began and ended at Hudson Valley Community College’s Joseph L. Bruno Stadium. I’m not ashamed to admit that the main attraction of this race for me was the opportunity (as advertised) to cross home plate. Although I’d prefer to do that at Fenway Park, I will (reluctantly) settle for the single-A Houston Astros affilate Tri-City Valley Cats’ home, named for the longtime New York State Senate Majority Leader--a man whose latest claim to fame is being convicted of two federal felony corruption counts. (I’ll lay odds he’ll never see a single day inside a prison--Club Fed or otherwise--since he’s 80 years old and has seemingly endless appeals available to him.) But I digress…

Well, as often happens, advertising can be just a wee bit misleading. We didn’t actually get to cross home plate. The finish line was actually down the first base line in front of the home dugout; closer to first base than to home plate. But I suppose the PR folks felt that “Valley Cats Infield Hit 5k” didn’t have quite the same panache.

I checked in (bib #140...damn, no prime number again!) and, as is another of my traditions, headed for the ladies’ room to pee…aaaaaaand they were still locked. I only had to wait perhaps three minutes, but to my bladder, three minutes may as well be three hours. I’m sure most folks just thought I was starting to warm up by doing all that pacing. If I’d had to wait much longer, my patented Pee-Pee Dance would have betrayed my true motive for all to see.

After finishing my pre-race prep (pictures, warm-up, stretching, pre-race nanner and hydration), I headed down toward the start line. The North Greenbush Police officer was just arriving in his cruiser to block off the road for our run. Make that half of the road. We would be running eastbound in the westbound lane; the eastbound lane would remain open. Fortunately, the local drivers exercised due caution while passing us during that leg of the race. Just a few minutes before lining up, I saw a familiar face: Mike H. from high school, who is also a Facebook friend and was in the area visiting his folks. He came to cheer me on and provide some photographic proof of my participation in the event. I ran with Mike’s sister, Kathleen, in the Freihofer’s Run for Women, my first 5k, earlier this month. (She and I are scheduled to participate in the Dunkin Run--a 5k that must have been designed with her in mind--in September.)

Once North Greenbush’s finest blocked off the road, we assembled at the start line. I was hoping to start in the front half to front third of the participants (maybe I have a secret desire to be passed by so damn many people), but at first thought I must be toward the back because no one was in back of me…um…until I turned and looked the other way and saw everyone lined up. I was actually ahead of the start line and thought the race would be run in the other direction. See why I like to have the course map in advance? Fortunately, it only took about seven milliseconds for me to realize the error of my ways, and I rather sheepishly moved into position around a third of the way back from the start line.

As the race began, I just focused on my breathing and on finding a nice, comfortable pace. One of the benefits of knowing at the outset that you have zero chance of winning (unless everyone else is suddenly overtaken by bubonic plague and amoebic dysentery…and even then it’s a crapshoot at best) is that there’s considerably less pressure with respect to having to establish a specific pace from the outset. I had two goals for this 5k: the first, as usual, was to run the full distance; my secondary goal was to beat my best 5k time (36:50, which I ran at the Read Run 5k in Saratoga Springs just shy of two weeks ago). I hadn’t run since Tuesday (since Thursday’s training run was scrapped due to threatened thunderstorms), my energy level was good and my body felt warmed up and nice and loose, so I figured that running the full course was well within my grasp.

Or so it seemed through the first mile and a half or so. The opening hill, which I (foolishly, as it turned out) figured must have been the “major” hill of the run, was quite similar to the Madison Avenue hill at the start of the Freihofer’s. I was beginning to wonder if all 5k courses are designed to include a long, moderately steep hill within the first quarter-kilometer. I took the hill at a steady pace and just kept silently chanting “CHiP, CHiP, CHiP” (Chest forward, Head up, Push with your feet) to myself. Fortunately, I got to the top of the hill before the theme song from “CHiPs” and memories of having Ponch’s picture in my junior high locker caused me to drop out of the race from acute psychological trauma. (In my own defense, I’d like to say that my taste in men has improved considerably.)

Just past the top of the hill, we turned onto a side street, as what seemed to be the entire population of North Greenbush who owned running shoes ran well ahead of Le Tortue Enflammé. I reminded myself of the advice Roxanne gave me regarding running without foreknowledge of the course: just follow the ass in front of you. Lucky for me there were scores of glutei maximi from which to choose. (Sadly, none of then belonging to ripped young hunks…apparently they were well ahead of the entire pack. Just my luck.) After less than a block, we started down an incline that was steeper than the hill we just climbed. Like an idiot, I thought, “YAAAAAAAY!!! I love running downhill! I love gravity!” and focused on keeping my knees soft but sturdy all the way down the hill. Then I saw the orange cones down the center of the street. We (I and all the heinies in front of me) ran to the left of the cones, and I saw the lead runner (preceded by a cyclist who was there to help the lead runner stay on-course) and several other runners coming past us in the right lane. They made it look so effortless. Then it hit me: Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo. I have to run back UP that hill I just came down. I didn’t see any mile markers (they were probably there, but since they weren’t attached to any of the keisters in front of me, I didn’t notice them) and wondered where the water station was. We looped around a few blocks, the water station appeared ahead, and I grabbed a cup, only managing a few meager sips before casting it aside. Then around the corner and I could see the orange traffic cones denoting the part of the race I had oh-so-recently begun to dread.

I started up the hill, which was long and gradual at first, then steeper. I had to slow to a walk at the beginning of the hill, allowing myself 60 seconds to get my tukhus back into a run. I ran to a point that was perhaps two-thirds of the way up the hill before having to slow to a walk again as I felt the frustration building. I was disappointed that I hadn’t run the whole race, but now I was pissing away my second goal: beating my previous best time. I gave myself another 60 seconds and then started running again, just before the turn-off to the road we’d started on; the one with the opening hill that I had climbed so confidently earlier in the race. Hello, gravity, my old friend. Have I told you lately that I FREAKIN’ LOVE YOU?!?!?

I passed the NGPD patrolman, thanked him, and then turned down the road to the stadium. (Incidentally, “stadium” is a rather grandiose term for the place, which really shouldn‘t be all that surprising, considering its namesake. “The Joe” seats about 5,000 people. And they play baseball there. Call me a purist, but that’s not a “stadium”; it’s a freakin’ ballpark. But I digress…again…) Seeing the stadium façade ahead of me was actually rather misleading, since we weren’t headed straight into the stadium; we would be taking the “scenic route.” I saw Mike sitting under a shade tree, not looking exhausted, breathless or sweaty as he pointed his camera my way. I said something like, “I just knew you should have taken my picture before the race!” and passed him on my way down the road. (I run so slowly that I was able to say all that while passing someone who was sitting on the side of the course. Yeah, I know. Depressing.) I would later find out from Mike that his optimal viewing location came at a price: a bird with an acute need to vacate its bowels. I call that karma. Heh heh heh.

I continued along the side of the stadium, then behind the outfield fence, slowing to a walk one last time for 15 seconds before coming around to the left field side of the stadium. I must run really slowly, because I saw Mike and his camera again as I entered the warning track. (I suspect he took a shortcut.) I’ve never run around the warning track of a baseball field before, so I briefly tried to imagine I was running the warning track at Fenway…which didn’t quite work, because I’ve been in Fenway Park enough times to know that the left field wall at “The Joe” sure ain’t no Green Monstah. Not to mention that I ain't no Yaz. It was actually a relief to run on the warning track surface, and my feet certainly weren’t complaining about leaving the asphalt roads behind. I also wasn't gettin as much push-off from the warning track, but at my "speed," I suspect that wasn't really a significant concern. Besides, I was almost “home.” As I rounded the right field corner, I used my lucky hat to its greatest advantage: not letting me see too much of what was ahead; specifically, the clock above the finish line. I figured my time was nothing to write home about, that this race was really just about the experience and the lessons learned and the fact that I made a conscious decision not to laze away my Saturday morning. I started pushing harder, wanting to leave everything I had on the course. I finally looked at the clock and thought it read something like 36:45. Having to slow to a walk was going to cost me my best time. Accomplishment (finishing the race), relief (at the proximity of the finish line) and frustration (spelled: Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo) came together in a bittersweet mélange. I crossed the finish line at what I would have sworn on a stack of bibles was around 37:05.

The Freihofer’s 5k used a timing chip that was embedded in the racing bib; the Read Run 5k used a timing chip that you attached to your shoe. This race had neither. As I emerged from the finish gate, I slowed to a walk and was instructed to detach the perforated bottom part of my bib (with my name on it) and give it to the volunteer. I met up with Mike again at the finish, and he walked with me up the stadium steps to the water bin. He very nicely endured what must have been the most boring-ass blathering as I recounted what seemed to be the entire run. (Think of it as the highlights of this blog…with full audio. Feel better now?) We walked around a bit as I cooled down, then sat along the right field line and cheered on the rest of the runners. After the 5k was finished, we cheered on the kids in the fun run. They got to run from home plate, all the way around the warning track, to the finish line. The first two (and possibly four) finishers were girls. YAY!!! GIRL POWER!!! The lead runner was eclipsed at the last few yards by the eventual winner. Once the last of the kids crossed the finish line (with a little blonde toddler being led by the hand by her dad, who had considerably more enthusiasm for finishing the race than she did), I headed up to see the results that were posted.

I found my name on the results sheet. I finished 277th (is that at least a prime number?) of the 311 finishers. I followed the line to my finish time: 36:25. I checked it at least three times to make sure I was looking at the right line. (I think I checked it at least three more times after that, too.) I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had met my time goal with five full seconds to spare. As Al Michaels so famously asked, “Do you believe in miracles?”

Well, Al, as a matter of fact, I do believe in miracles. I also believe in gravity (particularly the running-downhill variety) and the likelihood of human error, either in writing down my time or entering it into the computer. Maybe I was delirious when I crossed the finish line and misread the clock (which hardly seems likely). Maybe they give you a handicap, like a golfer gets. I doubt both of those possibilities, but the bottom line is that my time is USATF-official. More importantly, it’s a personal best. I (briefly) mentally kicked myself for slowing to a walk three times, since I might have finished sub-:36 otherwise. (Later, when I received the pictures from Mike, I saw the shot from the finish line: the clock above me clearly shows 37:09. I can only surmise that 36:25 was either my net time--crikey, it couldn't have taken me that long to cross the start line at the beginning of the race--or I owe some race official a "favor." But since this was the 4th annual Valley Cats Home Run 5k, I'm guessing that they know what they're doing. After all, this was only my third 5k.)

So now I have three 5k’s under my belt, one of which I ran the whole way. I also have a specific goal for my next 5k: running the whole way and finishing sub-:36. I also have the “luxury” of training time: My next 5k is the last weekend of July, the Silks & Satins 5k in Saratoga Springs. By that time, I’ll be another year older. No guarantees that I’ll be much wiser. But it’s a fairly safe bet that I’ll be much, much wise-assier. Maybe someday, some newbie runners will be behind me, encouraged to keep going by just watching the (wise)ass in front of them.

Running It All!!!

(Semi-)fresh off my inaugural 5k (the Freihofer’s Run for Women) a little over a week ago, I approached this morning’s Read Run 5k in Saratoga Springs with a healthy amount of cautious optimism. The weather when I woke up was practically identical to my wake-up weather for the Freihofer’s: humid, damp, cloudy and cool. Unlike the Freihofer’s, the weather never really warmed up and the sun never emerged; and that was all fine by me! Despite a near-constant drizzle, I was thankful for temperatures in the low 60s and thought it would bode well for today’s 5k goal: just to run the whole damn thing without having to slow to a walk.

The 2^nd Annual Read Run 5k was organized and conducted by Albany Running Exchange, and while it’s only about a tenth of the size of the Freihofer’s run, it was well organized and went off without a hitch. Well, except for the looooooong line for the ladies’ rest room in the Saratoga Springs Public Library about 20 minutes before race time. The valuable lesson I learned: yes, I really can run 3.1 miles without having to pee within 20 minutes of starting (or, as it curiously turned out, two hours after finishing).

I picked up my racing bib (#1496…alas, not a prime number) and timing chip, attached them to my shirt and shoe, respectively, went potty like a big girl and then headed back outside to warm up and stretch.

The RR5k didn’t draw a Senator or (from what I could tell) the Mayor, but the celebrity contingent wasn’t too shabby: Instead of Freddy Freihofer, we were treated to Clifford the Big Red Dog, Buggs Bunny and Daffy Duck. There was also a frog there from one of the local country music stations. I think his name was Froggy. Imagine that. <smirk>

As we were preparing to assemble at the start line, I met a young woman named Jennifer. She was nervous because this was her first 5k. Maybe I just look friendly (which I doubt, since when I’m “in the zone” I probably look rather pissed off…or just constipated), or perhaps people really are placed in our respective paths at various points in our lives because they can teach us something (or we can offer some insight to them), but Jennifer and I struck up a brief conversation. She already knew she couldn’t run all 5k, and I assured her that was fine. I asked her if she had any particular goal in mind; she said she wanted to finish in less than an hour. She headed toward the back of the starting group, the National Anthem was sung (if there was an announcement about that, no one in my area heard it, probably because there was a LOT of chatting going on…see why I wear my headphones?), and someone must have sounded a starting claxon, but even without my headphones in, I never heard it. I just started running when everyone else did.

We made our way down Putnam Street toward Congress Park, turning onto Spring Street to run along the park’s perimeter. Did I mention that the course ran uphill on Spring Street? From my Friday afternoon walking recon of the course, I estimated that the Spring Street hill was a similar incline to the Madison Avenue hill that opened the Freihofer’s, but the length of the hill was a bit shorter. For at least the first kilometer, I was being passed left and right—men, women, children, moms with jogging strollers, refugees from small Japanese fishing villages fleeing Godzilla—you name it, I was being passed by it. I was seriously waiting for some 90-year-old granny with a walker to sprint past me and call me a lardass. My breathing wasn’t right and I felt like I was slogging through semi-set Jell-O, but I just trotted on through it. I got a kick out of watching the kids run. They definitely help you maintain your sense of humor, since they’re all booster rocket—quick bursts of speed, delightfully inefficient running form (remember running just because it was fun to see how fast you could go?), then slowing to a walk within about 100 yards. Les jeunes lapins to my le tortue enflammé.

 

We passed the first distance marker somewhere along Nelson Avenue, I think, and I had no idea whether it indicated one kilometer or one mile. It honestly felt like I’d only run a kilometer (it wouldn’t be until we got to the “2” marker that I realized they were mile markers). I didn’t even notice the Saratoga Race Track backstretch to my left, but enough visits to the track over the years (plus my recon mission two days prior) reassured me of my location.

I hit a pretty decent cadence and found a runner just ahead of me whose pace was similar to mine. We would pass each other periodically, and near the two-mile mark on Vanderbilt Avenue, we introduced ourselves; Tina said she kept trying to “keep up with” me, I responded that she sent a good pace and that I’d been mirroring her pace since Nelson Avenue. We ran together, footsteps in matching cadence, for perhaps a couple hundred yards. There are little moments that happen in a race, whether it’s an encouraging word from a spectator, checking off landmarks (or other runners) as you pass, waving and saying thanks to the cops who are working traffic detail to keep some wayward automobile from making you one with the pavement, falling into a good cadence with another runner, or just making a brief connection with another human being who, like you, decided to run 3.1 miles on a Sunday morning instead of sleeping in and doing the Sunday crossword over bagels and orange juice. Those little moments are motivational, in addition to helping pass the time. This is especially important for someone like me, who has never hit that mindless “zoning out” that so many runners are fortunate enough to experience.

As we came around from Vanderbilt to Lincoln, I smiled as I crossed my fingers (since I was in no condition to hold my breath) for the one block we would run past the cemetery. Sure, it was silly, but it was another distraction that helped me keep moving. As we turned onto Regent Street, we had just under a mile to go. Having walked the course, I knew I could make it the rest of the way running. My confidence was building, especially since I knew that once we turned onto Caroline Street, I would pick up some momentum from my new running buddy, gravity. I headed downhill on Caroline and could see the final turn ahead. Rounding onto Putnam Street, I could see the ARE finish line banner. I was going to run the whole damn race. WIN!!! That’s when I saw the race clock: 36 and change. Holy crap, I was going to finish under :37. DOUBLE WIN!!!

Once I crossed the finish line, volunteers were at the ready, removing the timing chips from the runners’ shoes. I grabbed a bottle of water and a wedge of orange and headed back to the sidelines of the course to cheer on the runners who came after me. I looked for Jennifer and wondered how she did. Finally, I decided to walk down to the final corner and look up Caroline Street for her. After a few moments, I could see her, walking. I waved and called out, “You’re almost there, Jennifer!!! You’re doing it!!!” She smiled and as she drew closer, she said, “I’m making my goal: under an hour!” I walked alongside her for a few feet, then watched her jog the remaining block to the finish line. She finished just a few seconds over 47 minutes. I think I was prouder of her accomplishment than I was of my own.

After the race, I would meet people who finished somewhere between a “very disappointing :28” to a “decent sub-:30” to a “not-too-shabby :35.” Perhaps experience jades us a bit too much a bit too soon, but I was delighted to make my first-ever official PR, running the whole way. The average age of the female runners was 35½, nearly 12 years my junior. But my finish time of 36:50 was less than a minute slower than the overall female average, so I chalked that up to some kind of 5k Cougar victory. RAWR!!!

After the race and a final brief chat with Jennifer, I walked up to Mrs. London’s on Broadway for a celebratory pecan ring, then strolled down to Starbuck’s to enjoy my pecan ring with a chai.

Next up is the the Valley Cats Home Run 5k in Troy the final weekend of this month; I’ve set my goal at a sub-:36 finish. I have also found two more 5k’s to run, both in Saratoga, bringing my 2010 5k registration total to 13. Two down, just 11 to go.

I may not look even remotely like a runner, but as of today, I officially am a runner! SCORE!

5k Virgin No More

Wow. Where to begin?

I know this is a grossly overused word, but today was an absolutely AWESOME experience. Months of preparation, repeated (and often profound) moments of self-doubt, successes and failures (seemingly more of the latter than the former) in training, kvetching knees, legs, lungs, etc., all came down to just shy of 40 minutes of putting one foot in front of the other, quickly (well, quickly for ME) enough to be technically running, for five full kilometers. I really only had one major goal for today's Freihofer's Run for Women: to finish the race, having run the full distance. Well, I went the distance. And I ran the overwhelming majority of it. There were two occasions when I had to slow to a walk, each covering a distance of about 100-150 yards. I'll admit that having to slow to a walk felt like a partial defeat for me, but in training runs where this happened, I was often unable to resume running; today, I resumed running after both slow-downs, and I ran the final kilometer and a half or so.

The Freihofer's Run for Women is a huge race, one of the largest women's 5k races in the USA. Everything about this event was top notch and as smooth as silk. Every single volunteer was excellent: warm, welcoming, friendly, encouraging, supportive and knowledgeable. I didn't meet a single volunteer who failed to meet every single one of those criteria. I'm afraid the FR4W may have spoiled me. My next 5k is in eight days, a much smaller affair that I suspect may involve more (and steeper) hills, and which will probably be less well organized; that's OK, it'll help me practice that whole "patience" thing with which I constantly struggle.

My day began about an hour earlier than I'd expected. After tossing and turning a bit through a very muggy night (and the ceiling fan whirring away like the top rotor on an Apache helicopter at top speed), I woke to birdsong, rain and cooling wind at 5am. (Where was the rain last night when I was trying to fall asleep???) I went through some mental preparations while I lay in bed, checked e-mail, Facebook and CNN.com on my CrackBerry, and then finally got up around 6:15 to let Diva outside. Breakfast was a scrambled egg and half a cup of skim milk. I had a nanner stashed in my race day bag, to be consumed about an hour before race time. Of course, I also hydrated, as I'd been doing for days in preparation of this morning. Then I hit the shower and got dressed for MY FIRST 5K RUN!!! I had decided two crucial things the previous evening as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep: I would leave the house at 8am (to make sure I didn't have a stressful struggle with parking) and I would line up with the :37 estimated finishing time group, which I thought was a little ambitious, but what the hey.

The weather was the biggest question mark on the day. All of the weather forecasts for several days had been predicting rain and thunderstorms for race day. Yeah, right. Here's the deal: You don't need meteorology (sorry, Kathy!), you just need to know whether or not Joan puts on sunscreen: no sunscreen=sunny and warm. I have the pink shoulders to prove it. Oh, I also lost my running sunglasses on Friday, so that practically guaranteed sun, but I had my lucky green BoSox baseball cap to keep the sun out of my eyes. When I arrived, I got a primo parking space in the East garage (SCORE!). Before heading up to the Empire State Plaza, I stopped into the Cathedral across the street for a little pre-run bonding with the Big Guy in my parish church. Next stop: the South Concourse of the ESP. I skipped the Subway booth and the Success Rice booth (both of which were doing giveaways that involved wheels of fortune), and the health screening booth. (Seriously, what were they going to tell me that I don't already know? I need to lose weight. Film at eleven.) I discovered my pre-5k nirvana: An excellent massage therapist named Brady gave me an invigorating pre-race massage (also free...SCORE!) before she sent me on my way. She also reminded me that there would be free post-race massages, too. Who needs to run for cookies when you can run for the prospect of a post-race massage (and, of course, a Boston shake from the Tastee-Freez in Delmar)?

I headed outside to the plaza, meandering among the growing crowd of participants and spectators. The sun was just coming out from the clouds and the temperature was already creeping up. I just kept hydrating and reminded myself that I'd already trained a few times in worse heat and humidity. That didn't keep me from wondering how almost 4,000 other bodies in my immediate vicinity would affect the ambient temperature, but I just chalked that up to Stuff I Can't Control and told myself to suck it up. As I watched the competitors and their friends and families, I started to feel some rather intense emotion wash over me: Although I was meeting a couple of friends at the race, I didn't bring anyone with me. That meant I didn't have someone to hold my stuff for me or take care of Diva (which is why she had to stay home) and be there just for me. (Yeah, I know it sounds selfish. Tough.) I'll admit that I could feel some tears starting to well up. Even among all of these people, even with all of the support that I felt from friends all over the country, physically I felt alone.Running is a solitary activity.  In the end, no matter whom you run with or who cheers you from the (literal or virtual) sidelines, when you run, you run alone. Something about that kind of got to me. Add to that the sense of I really AM going to do this, and I had to take some deep breaths to control my emotions. See, I will cry for a number of reasons, including things like pride and anticipation, so for me, that particular physical manifestation of emotion can be downright inconvenient at times. So while most of the people there had their families, friends, running clubs, schools or whatever other social connections with them, I had my CrackBerry, which means I had my friends who have shared their encouragement and enthusiasm and support with me on Facebook and on my blog. So even though I was physically alone, I had all of those folks from the East Coast to the West Coast with me in spirit. That managed to keep me from crying, but I'll tell you: I was kvelling like you wouldn't believe.

As we lined up on Madison Avenue in groups based on our anticipated finish time, I slipped in among the :34-:37 group. I was concerned that some of the folks in my group might try to walk up the modest grade of Madison Avenue, the opening hill of the race, so as we edged closer to 10am, I crept up into the next group. (As it turned out, many of them also walked most of the first hill, so I was bobbing in and out of damn near every hole I could find so I could keep running. Note to self: next year, screw the anticipated-finish-time system and start with the :20 group.) We heard from various VIPs, including Mayor Jennings, Senator Schumer and Joan Benoit Samuelson (one of the few times you'll hear the words "Joan" and "fast" used in close proximity), who referred to the FR4W as an "accessible" distance; my friend, Kathleen, remarked that "accessible distance" was a very diplomatic way of putting it. I stashed my CrackBerry and turned on my iPod, adjusting the volume so I could just hear it, but without impeding my ability to hear another runner coming up behind or beside me. I did some gentle side lunges, a little hopping, some jogging in place and a last bout of light stretching as I waited for the start signal.

At 10am, 3,927 runners began their individual five-kilometer journeys as waves of huddled masses. It was a staggered start, with about a 10-second delay between groups (another reason for me to screw the anticipated-finish-time system). Kenyan Emily Chebet would eventually win the 32nd FR4W in an unbelievable 15:12, a new record for both her and the FR4W. I was, shall we say, a very healthy distance behind her.

Starting up Madison Avenue hill, I found my holes in the crowd and was able to jog up the hill at a slow but steady pace, gradually feeling increasingly energized. As I approached the start line and the VIP stand, I shouted to the Freihofer's bunny, "FREDDYYYYYYY!!!" and felt the energy actually building as I ran. Kathleen was ahead of me already by a few yards, so I just kept her in my sights. As we ran along Madison to Lark Street, I could still see Kathleen (the fact that she's so darned tall certainly helped) and wondered if she would be overcome with temptation and pop into the Dunkin Donuts on the corner for a quick sugar fix. We had joked about that the previous evening as we walked the course after dinner at El Loco. Although the cheering crowds became more and more sparse as we went up Madison toward the park, I was simply grateful that people would stand on the sidewalk to cheer a bunch of runners in a 5k; I'm sure many of the spectators didn't know anyone in the race.

We entered Washington Park and I still felt strong and steady. It seemed like we got to the 1k mark in no time. As we came over the top of a modest hill, I enjoyed the momentary increase in velocity on the downside of the hill, where a spectator (one of many along the route) was ringing a cowbell. I couldn't resist shouting, "MORE COWBELL!!!" And of course, he obliged. Thanks, dude! That carried me to the Lakehouse, which was the 1mi mark and the first water stop. Not wanting to slow to a walk, I ran past the walkers to one of the later water tables and grabbed a quick cup of water. I took in a mouthful and tossed the rest to the ground. Running along the spent-cup-covered asphalt sounded like the clopping of horse hooves, reminiscent of "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" ("You've got two empty 'alves of coconut, an' you're bangin' 'em together!"); that silly thought got me to at least the 2k mark (despite my concerns about whether the water cups were made from recycled paper). The sun was just beating down on us mercilessly all through the park. Of all the times I'd been in Washington Park, I'd never noticed that the roadway was so lacking in shade. We ran around the side of the lake and out onto Lake Avenue, which comprised another moderate hill. I was passing people on the hill and found that most of my renewed energy didn't just come from the spectators along the route; it came equally from shouting back to them, "Thank you!" I gave a thumbs up to the course guides as we passed, waved back at little kids along the route, and found that it helped me relax and just run.

Across from the UAlbany campus on Western Avenue, I started to lose my momentum. I took a brief inventory: legs were fine, breathing was fine, heart rate elevated (of course!), but I just felt like I couldn't keep running. Even my mantra ("strong legs...strong lungs...strong heart...strong will...I will...I can...I am!") didn't enable me to keep running. I really didn't want to slow to a walk. I wanted to run the whole damn thing. But I just couldn't keep running. I slowed to a walk and, since we were almost to the 2mi mark, I told myself I would start running again then. Another quick water station helped me get back to a run, and I kept running back into Washington Park. I had to slow to a walk again inside the park, but again I gave myself a landmark by which I would resume running, and I did, with about a kilometer and half to go.

When we emerged from the park a second time and were back on Madison Avenue, Kathleen and I had caught back up (we had passed each other a couple of times along the way). We ran pretty much side-by-side from the park entrance almost to the finish line. As we approached Lark Street, I just kept saying to myself (well, I was saying it aloud, but I was the intended audience), "It's all downhill from here." Once we got to Swan Street, I could see the finish line. People all along both sides of the homestretch were cheering, encouraging, reassuring us that we were almost there. I felt the positive influence of gravity propelling me toward the finish line, but I was actually looking beyond the finish line: the Albany Fire Department's Engine #5 was spraying a shower of water over Madison Avenue, just before Eagle Street. That was my Promised Land, baby! As I approached the finish line, I could see the time above the gate: 39 minutes and change. I was going to finish my first 5k in under 40 minutes! As I crossed the finish line, I raised my arms and shouted, "WOOOOOOO!!!" Then I high-fived Senator Schumer, gratefully accepted a bottle of water from one of the many rockin' FR4W volunteers and made a beeline for the fire hose, expressing my profound gratitude to the firefighter sitting on the bumper.

I updated my Facebook status with my estimated finishing time and, as I caught up with a couple of friends to discuss the race, my CrackBerry repeatedly buzzed as well wishes streamed in from my FB friends. I tried to dry off in the sun a bit and then went into the Cathedral for a little  prayer of thanks and a break from the sun. Then I headed back to the Plaza for a hot dog and some orange juice (gotta love free grub!) and then back into the South Concourse for my post-run massage. Debra did a wonderful job with my fire hose soaked body. I actually felt invigorated after the race, and even more so after the massage. I was very tired, yes, but not of the let-me-lie-down-on-the-sidewalk-and-die-right-now variety. I was freakin' excited and eager to enjoy the whole FR4W experience again next year.

I am thankful for so many things: first and foremost, the simple ability to run the race. If I had a dollar for every time in the last five months when my inner dialogue asked what the hell would ever make this overweight, non-athletic, nearly 47-year-old woman even think that she could run a 5k, I would have enough money to enjoy a fine gourmet meal in the world's swankiest restaurant. I am thankful for leather car upholstery, particularly in light of my public shower. I am particularly thankful for every single person who cheered us on, whether along the race route, via Facebook, or simply in spirit. Even before I crossed the finish line, I remember thinking, "I am so doing this again next year! Only faster and running the whole way!")

Emily Chebet took home $10,000 and the Freihofer's course record for her astonishing effort. Not too shabby. My reward? I went to the Tastee-Freez and had a Boston shake to celebrate my first 5k; I suspect Ms. Chebet might be envying me just a wee bit. Can you honestly blame her?

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow...

Well, I am as ready as I will ever be for my first 5k. Yesterday's training run (in unexpectedly sunny weather, with my "old" running shoes, without drinking any water during the actual run) went surprisingly well, energy-wise. The time was slow (about a :42 5k pace), but at no point did I feel like collapsing, so I'll take that as a victory any ol' day. Today is probably going to be one of the toughest days: the total rest day. Part of my goal today is to stay busy and make sure I have everything prepped and ready to go, so that I will be (slightly) less likely to obsess about Saturday's Freihofer's Run for Women and the 3,999 people who will be running "with" me. Staying busy should also help me sleep well tonight. (Enough rain tonight to keep my neighbors from partying and keeping me up 'til 2am would also be nice.)

After yesterday's run, while marvelling at how I seem to sweat even more profusely after the run than I do during the run (seriously, shouldn't I have completely melted away to a size 6 by now?), I began to feel something...what's the adjective I'm looking for? Could it be...confident? I know in my head that I can do this. I know in my heart that I can do this. I just hope my legs and lungs will toe the party line on Saturday. So my dopey-but-effective-for-me mantra goes, "Strong legs...strong lungs...strong heart...strong will...I will, I can, I am!" (Notice it has seven components...gotta have a prime!)

Part of the visualization I use during training runs (to help keep me from analyzing every damn step of the run and the whole gee-this-is-so-hard factor) includes my various supporters lining the 5k course, cheering me on, many of them holding signs that are unique to their personalities and specific to their relationship with me. Many of those "signs" are too racy (hah! pun intended!) even for basic cable, so I won't list them here; but rest assured that they are specific and very inspiring to me. Kitteh's sign alone can carry me a good solid kilometer, as long as I don't start laughing too hard. Fortunately, there are enough of supporters that I don't have a long distance to run between supporters. Sometimes I think of running from supporter to supporter as running fartleks, and everyone who knows me knows how much the word "fartlek" makes me giggle, but I try not to giggle while running, since I need every molecule of oxygen I can get my lungs on!

This afternoon I'm picking up my race packet, which includes my bib: #821. PRIME NUMBER!!! My raceday clothing is already laid out; all that's missing is the bib pinned to the front of my purple sleeveless UnderArmour running shirt. I think I might even have some purple safety pins with which to attach it...

I've had so many people encouraging me through this process, some of whom I've known for years and see practically on a daily basis, some of whom I rarely see or haven't seen in ages but have reconnected with thanks to Facebook, and some of whom I've never actually met except in the virtual world of Facebook. I hesitate to mention individuals by name, only because I'm afraid I'll forget someone. But here goes (in totally random order): Kitteh, Tiffany, Kathy ma sista, Kathryn, Carolyn, K-E-L-L-Y, the whole B-team, Colleen, Johnny T, Casey, Christine, Daryl, Page, Herbee, Barb, Pam, Neil, Michael, Katie, Dad, CCMH, Bill & Terry, Jaime, Gretchen, Fr. Pape, the Williams family (especially my "boyfriend," Elijah) and all of my Cathedral friends, Gort, Donna (aka Miley), Sherrill (who basically started the whole idea for me after running the Freihofer's for the first time last year) and, of course, Kathleen, who is risking mortal embarrassment by running the FR4W with me (and without whom I probably would have bailed on this Quixotic quest several times over in the last three months alone). Of course, special thanks to La Diva Loca del Fenway, my canine antidepressant and best bud. I've probably forgotten to mention a whole slew of folks, whose names will come to me about eight milliseconds after I click the "POST" button. So if I neglected you, please feel free to lambaste me in the comments. I'm a big girl (literally!), I can take it. Someone might say I forgot to thank God, but if the Divine is indeed the key element of each and every one of us (and I sincerely believe it is), then expressing my gratitude to all of you is thanking God, just as your encouragement, support and love are expressions of His love to me, regardless of your spiritual leanings (or non-leanings). As the old, so-cute-it'll-make-you-gag saying goes, "God is love...and vice-versa." La reconnaissance est la memoire du coeur. (Gratitude is the memory of the heart.)

With all due respect to Macbeth, it's not "tomorrow" that creeps in this petty pace, it's today...the day before the race...the REST DAY before the race. I have no doubt that tomorrow will pass in the blink of an eye, so I just want to enjoy it (especially five particular kilometers), run the whole way regardless of how many grannies with walkers fly past me, feel the air in my lungs, feel my heart beating strong and sure, experience the sublime feeling of simply moving my body through space under its own power, and cross the finish line with a smile on my face and the cry of "Vive le tortue enflammé!!!" (or, heck, even a simple, "I did it!!!") coming from my lips. I'm even willing to autograph my free box of Freihofer's cookies. Heck, maybe I'll even eat them, but I really have my heart set on a Boston shake from the Tastee Freez in Delmar.

'Til tomorrow...