Saturday, January 9, 2010

Resolution 5K (XC)

I got chicked about two thirds of the way through. Joe Dudman and his toes were way out front. There was one other guy ahead of me but he was fading fast and I knew I'd get him. Second place, I thought; what a weak field (no disrespect intended). Still, hey, second place. Then I got chicked by a woman in black tights, which could describe just about every female runner out there on a chilly January morning, but this was the young one who could really motor. I got third place on the soggy, occasionally muddy, sometimes uneven turf out at Clackamas Community College. My splits were 6:20, 6:40 and 6:30, and then 33 seconds for that last, dangling 5K tenth, for a 20:03. As always, I was left afterward to ask: Did it hurt as much as it should have? I never know but am always skeptical. The problem, I think, is that the memory of running pain doesn't last. Not with me. It's immediately displaced. I'm staggering toward the finish line my mind a blazing blur as signals of ache, tightness and distress assault it from every corner. The world is about to end. Fine, let it! I finish. Two seconds later I'm saying to the tag-grabber something utterly rational like: "Damn, I wish I'd gotten that 20:00." But, of course, this is as it must be. This is why I train, what I condition my body and mind to do. To move, move, move past the moment—which hurts—and take the next step. There are a billion miracles of biokinetics happening instantaneously. The machine is under enormous stress. It knows one thing for certain: Stop, and everything stabilizes. Stop, and the chances of survival are enhanced. And my training tells me to move, move, move past it.

Official results
Garmin data

1 comment:

  1. How do your short races fit into marathon training? VO2? Tempo? Or have you given up on Spiridon?