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.