Silks & Satins (Not the Underwear Kind) 5k

You know that dream we all seem to have periodically, where you show up at school in your PJs (or butt naked), only to discover that there's a big test you didn't study for? That's what yesterday felt like, leading into this morning's Silks & Satins 5k in Saratoga Springs. After my last 5k (Valley Cats Home Run 5k in late June), my goal for the next race was twofold: run the whole damn thing; and finish under 36 minutes. Coming into this morning's race, I decided I wanted to run the whole thing, time be damned. To make matters worse, the oppressive humidity reared its ugly head again (seriously, it has completely worn out its welcome this summer), so even with temperatures in the low 70s at race time, it still felt like running through chicken soup.

I'm one of those annoying people who gets to things early. I get to race events right when check-in opens, even though that's typically an hour and a half to two hours prior to race time. It's part of my routine, just like my single scrambled egg and half cup of milk that I have for breakfast on race day, my one-hour-before-race-time nanner, petting damn near every dog I see, and my post-race nap. It works for me, so I'm not going to mess with it. This morning, I was actually the first runner to check in at the pre-registered M-O line. I might even have been the first runner to check in, period. When the M-O volunteers told me I was first, I said, "YAY! That's the only time I'm ever going to be first in a 5k!" Fortunately, I have no illusions about winning a 5k. I'm typically a good 10 years older than the average entrant, plus I'm a newbie runner, plus I'm by nature a turtle. You do the math.

This event typically draws about a thousand runners; this morning I would be one of 881 finishers (at least four of whom were a bride and her wedding party). After checking in and completing the first of what would end up being three pre-race visits to the "pee pee teepees" (if only I ran as fast as my digestive tract), I took a few photos and hooked up my iPod. The first tune served up by the iPod Shuffle Gods: "Can't Stand the Weather" by Stevie Ray Vaughn. How apropos!

This being Saratoga Springs (a very canine-friendly town), I had plenty of dogs to pet as part of my pre-race sucking-up-to-karma routine. As it turned out, the first doggie who crossed my path was a Dachshund named Lucky. I was starting to have a good feeling about this race. In time, I met Panda (a Bichon-type who was, appropriately, black and white), Ollie (a painfully shy Cock-a-poo who made my own skittish Chihuahua, Diva, look downright outgoing), Baxter the chocolate Lab ("Baxtah" according to his owner's accent...wasn't sure if it was New England or Brooklyn and didn't wanna screw with my karma), and a golden retriever who seemed particularly eager to meet Baxter. There was also a Basset Hound who flew past me faster than one would think a Basset could move.

I met up with a friend from work who had also run the Freihofer's in early June. Carolyn and I kept things light and humorous, which helped loosen me up for the race. One thing we both agreed on: the weather was horrendously humid. YECCHHH!!!

We started on East Avenue at Caroline Street and ran down East Avenue along the perimeter of the Oklahoma training track where horses whose bloodlines go back centuries prepare for their day at the Spa (no cucumbers on eyelids here, though there's plenty of mud). At the end of East Avenue, by the main entrance to Saratoga Race Course, we turned onto Union Avenue, headed toward downtown. I was particularly thankful that, this being racing season and all, it was impractical for our race to include downtown; they've got hills down there! And while I am certainly appreciative of the gravity-induced velocity increase of the downhills, the uphills are still something I think should be considered a violation of the Geneva Conventions. But today's course (as I knew from my recon mission eight days prior) was flat and included enough turns that meant we were weren't on any particular road for more than about six blocks. More experienced runners may have loathed all the turns, but for me they helped my running by keeping me from feeling that a particular stretch was endless.

Even though I run with an iPod, I keep the volume level low enough to hear the other runners. At the one-mile mark, a volunteer with a stopwatch called out "eleven," which for me was an excellent pace; in training, I consistently run a 12-minute mile. At the two-mile mark, I had slowed a bit (22:27), but was still running at a very good pace for me; I just hoped I could keep it up for the remaining mile plus.

Periodically throughout the race, we would pass Saratogians sitting on their front porches or standing in their driveways, cheering us on. The generosity of such a simple gift--a little time, a little applause, a little encouragement--is a beautiful thing. Best of all, they often had young children with them, which sets a very nice example of generosity to be passed down. As we neared Caroline Street Elementary School, one particularly generous denizen of the Spa city had several huge honkin' stereo speakers sticking out of the back of his SUV, blaring the theme from "Rocky"...naturally, we all gave them a thumbs-up and a heartfelt shout of "Thank YOUUUUU!!!" as we passed. One supporter even rang a cowbell for us. I am particularly fond of cowbells when I run; I'm thinking of hiring a whole herd of dairy cattle to encourage me during my training runs.

As we turned onto George Street, I knew from my week-ago recon mission that there were only a few blocks to go. I was in the homestretch, so, like the amazing Thoroughbred, Rachel Alexandra, I kicked my big butt into gear and turned on the afterburners. (I will grant you that Rachel Alexandra manages to generate slightly more velocity than I did...but let's just see how she looks at the tail end of 3.1 miles, okay?!? She also has a professional trainer and a whole entourage. And she gets a big bucket of Guinness after a race. I'm just sayin'...) Unfortunately, my afterburners are only good for about a block, maybe two. And I had about three or four to cover. The folks at the end of the race always make my day. People I have never met before and may never meet again, we form a brief but encouraging bond and verbally push each other to the finish line. It's rather Henry V, very "we happy few, we band of brothers," with all the requisite sweat and exhaustion...just without the bleeding, thankyouverymuch.

As George Street angled slightly to the left, I finally saw the finish line banner, and in short order I could see the clock. Holy crap. Barring a major faux pas or last-minute, unprecedented bout of vomiting, I was going to finish this sucker under 36 minutes. I was going to accomplish both of my goals for this race. Can you spell SCORE?!?!?

Apres race, we were offered a veritable carb-icopia of bagels, muffins, oranges and (YES!!!) nanners, courtesy of Price Chopper, one of the local grocery store chains, who also provided goodie bags. My goodie bag contained, among other things, a full-size Snickers bar. (They could have waved that in front of me by the finish line; it might have shaved a couple of seconds off my time.) If the weather hadn't been so warm and humid, I would have torn into that baby right then and there. (As it is, I put it in the freezer when I got home and ate it before my post-race nap.) I met up with Carolyn and we headed our cool-down walk downtown to Starbucks for a celebratory beverage. And you damn well better believe we left our racing bibs on! (Although the sweat pouring down our faces would have been more than enough proof of our recent activity. Whenever I see someone post-race who looks at me like I'm some kind of overly sweaty freak of nature, I mentally say, "I just ran over 3 miles. What did you do this morning???" You've gotta love self-righteous indignation. It ROCKS!!!)

All in all, despite some weather that I will be sooooooo glad to kick to the meteorological curb ASAP, it was a great day. And incidentally, by finishing sub-:36, I am technically no longer a turtle; I am officially L'Opossum Enflamme!