This morning, in my hometown of Fort Worth, I did my 148th footrace. The temperature wasn't all that high (70s), but the humidity made conditions oppressive. I was drenched in sweat by the time I finished, and the perspiration poured off my body for a long time afterward, as I stood cheering runners to the finish. A month from now, running conditions should be much improved, as the heat and humidity of summer subside. I can't wait.
I had no idea what to expect as far as speed is concerned. Yes, I've been running all summer (three times a week), but not far and not fast. I haven't timed myself on a run since February. I told myself that I would be happy with a mile pace of under seven minutes. A year ago, I did the 5K course at a mile pace of 6:52.74. I usually don't forget things, but this morning I forgot my watch. I realized it about two miles from my house. "Heck with it," I said, after considering going back to the house for it. I knew that there would be chip timing, so I would get an accurate result. The only thing I'd miss is knowing my pace at the one-mile and two-mile splits.
I lined up near the front and had no trouble with the crowd. (Sometimes there are so many people in front of me that it reduces my speed until I get clear.) I felt good in the first mile, as we made our way along city streets to the Trinity Trail. We had a little climb near the Duck Pond and then ran along a tree-lined trail for a mile or so. When we reached the one-mile marker, the man immediately in front of me looked at his watch. "Time?" I asked. "6:46," he replied. I was surprised to have gone that fast. I knew, at that moment, that I could match the previous year's speed if I kept up the intensity. I was determined to keep up the intensity.
There was nobody near me at the two-mile mark, so I had no idea how I did in the second mile. I was starting to feel the heat. Part of the course was on gravel, which was destabilizing. Finally, we left the trail to climb over a hill and get back on the street. This hill slowed my pace, as you can imagine. Once I got back on the streets, with half a mile to go, I began passing people. I could tell that they weren't in my age group, but they provided good targets. With a quarter of a mile to go, I felt as though I were going to explode (or have a heart attack). I push myself too hard. My mind makes my body do bad things.
Finally, thankfully, it was over. I was gasping for air as I crossed the sensor. I grabbed a cup of water from the table and walked back to the final corner to cheer runners on. A few minutes ago, I found the results online. I won a trophy for the second consecutive year (my 64th award in 148 races). I thought I might win again (a year ago I got the third-place trophy), but I didn't want to stand around for two hours waiting for the ceremony. By 9:30, when the ceremony began, I was home walking Shelbie on the school grounds, still wearing my racing gear. I'll have to go to Luke's Locker this week to pick up my trophy.
Here are my mile paces for the past four years in this race: 6:53.55, 6:54.23, 6:52.74, and 6:52.39. (Elapsed time this morning = 21:21.3.) Can you believe how close they are? At least I'm getting faster rather than slower! Overall, I finished 44th of 715, which is the top 6.1%. Five women beat me. I was the 39th male finisher of 356 (top 10.9%). I finished fourth of 35 men in my age group (50-54), which is the top 11.4%. I should explain how I won the second-place trophy while finishing fourth. In each race, there is an overall winner and a master's winner. The latter is for runners 40 and over. In this particular race, there was also a grandmaster's winner for runners 50 and over. Both the master's winner and the grandmaster's winner came from my age group, so they were "taken out" of the age group and given special awards. That moved me from fourth to second.
My personal record at 5K (3.107 miles) is 6:08.75, set on 27 November 1999. That's almost 10 years ago, when I was 42. I've slowed since then, but not terribly so. I'd like to keep my current speed for as long as I can. Curro ergo sum!
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 