A nearly perfect day

Turn back the clock two weeks to the weekend of October 26-28. I made the solo trip to Fort Wayne for my 25th H.S. reunion (Go Archers) and to see if there was any fight left in this dog. That is to say, to run the 8th Annual River City Rat Race.

I had never run that race before, but the course looked like a nice mix of near-downtown neighborhood running, a quick pass of the rose garden and a nice finish at the back door of historic Fort Wayne. http://www.oldfortwayne.org/main.htm

I came at this with the attitude that it be "just a run" and that I wouldn't race it. It would be great to have a dollar for everytime I've said that over the years. Something happens when you pin a number on your jersey that just makes it hard to make a race a training run. But, as in the past, that was the plan.

This would be my first road race in over two years. I mention that because I did run the Rock -n- Sole trail race last November. That was a race and I pushed a bit, but it included dirt running, waist deep water and a muddy stream. Hardly the same as pounding on concrete.

I restarted my running a few days after this year's disaster-thon, the Chicago Marathon. I had spent the summer cycling and then waited for darkness and cool weather to begin running.

Seeing the bib itself was really exciting. First off, it was black with silver numbers. Kind of an Oakland Raiders bib, or really any of the hundreds of sports teams that went to a black and silver format. I felt a little giddy as I pinned it my jersey on Friday night. Of course, the giddiness might have been the Belgian beer consumed at Buckets with some of the high school mates.

Saturday morning I got up early so I could get some oatmeal in me a couple hourse before the gun. As I sipped my Folgers coffee (nothing but the best at 5405 Indiana), I felt pre-race nervousness for the first time in years. Why was I feeling this? I wasn't planning to race the thing, I wasn't in shape to race, what was going on?

I showed up at the race about 45 minutes early. Parking was easy behind Don Hall's Gashouse. http://www.donhalls.com/locations/theoldgashouse/default.aspxI haven't set foot inside that restaurant in years. I don't really know anybody who goes there, but as the website says it's a "Fort Wayne landmark." Whatever that means.

Weather was race ready, it was 50 degrees (maybe less) and a light, misting rain was falling. I was in no hurry to do a running warm-up as my plan was to use the first mile or so as my warm-up. I joined the growing crowd of runners inside Fort Wayne's Unite Arts Center - a combination art gallery (I think) and auditorium of some sort (I think).

This was a red state race with all the trimmings. A quick Star Spangled Banner -- I put hand on heart, but couldn't find a flag to watch during the singing. Why doesn't anyone put hand on heart or sing? So simple, yet so meaningful. Also, quite calming before a race. And then, "let's all bow our heads and pray." Oy, does running a race absolutely require me to be told that Jesus has given me the strength to run?

Time to line up and I am ready to go. A last minute wardrobe change (from short sleeves to long AND I would regret this decision) and then to the start line. I tried to line up pretty far back to resist the urge to hit the gas at the gun. To ensure a slow start, I stood behind several young Girls on the Run runners. I resisted the twin urges of saying "sparkle fingers" (or "glitter digits" as I recently learned) and making fun of the little girl wearing a sweater (yes, a sweater) under her singlet. Come on mom of this girl, dress the girl in something a little more race ready.

BOOOOOOOM!!! The start was not a gun, oh no, not in Fort Wayne, my friend, it was a damn cannon. I saw them setting it up and more or less knew what to expect after the HUFF a couple years ago where they fired a revolutionary war cannon while I was sitting in the porta-potty.

Talk about scaring the shit out of you.

I started out smart. I ran real easy, didn't pass anyone and let other runners fly by me. I figured I would pass them later if I was supposed to. What an absolute thrill to be on the course of a 10K again. I was running, looking down at my gloved hands, listening to my breathing and watching runners all around me as we all tried to get into a pace that would work for a few miles. Predictably, I passed runners at the 3/4 of mile mark as they were suddenly confronted by the reality of a fast start. And then, I heard it. Faint at first, and down the road a ways: 6:35, 6:36, 6:40, but then it got louder, as I drew closer and closer, 6:50, 6:51, and, at last, as I passed the Mile 1 marker, a well bundled older gentlemen read my split to me: 6:59.

Six-freaking-fifty-nine for the first mile. What had I done? I looked down at my heart rate monitor and there, staring back up at me was the number 142. So, to recap, I thought, I just ran a 6:59 mile, passed something like 50 runners and my heart rate was 142. Woo hoo. With my head up, I held a comfortable pace and ran toward the Mile 2 marker.

I made an easy pass through the first water stop, grabbed a cup without breaking stride (ah, the old form coming back, just like riding a . . . well not really, but you get the idea), thanked the volunteers (if you don't do that SHAME ON YOU, you should) and then drank and dropped the cup into the wide open trash bag held by a wide-eyed 10 year old volunteer. Heart rate jumped a bit with all the water stop fun, but then I settled down. We were running down a boulevard street, u-turned around the median at an intersection and we were greeted by a headwind.

I thought about my wars with the wind over the years, the 13 miles into a 15 mph wind in Clearwater, FL, and the 12 miles of pounding I took in 2001 in Detroit's 9/11 re-routed marathon. Not today, sir. Grabbing a page from my recent cycling experiences, I tucked in behind an older man (older than me, anyway) and kept my pace as I let him block the wind. Just like on the bike, my heart rate dropped about 10 bpm thanks to my new shield. Suddenly, he looked over his shoulder, saw me there and tried to shake me. He didn't say anything, but then why should he? I wasn't breaking any rules. No worries, I found somebody else and kept the wind at bay. Mile 2: 6:57. Wow, this is a little too easy.

OK, this is getting long and I have 4.2 more miles to ramble on about. Stay tuned for Part 2.