This morning, in beautiful, historic Fort Worth, in glorious weather, I did my 151st and 152d footraces. The 5K race (3.107 miles) begins at eight o'clock and the 10K (6.214 miles) at nine. This allows people to do both races, and since I'm a glutton for punishment, I do both. I never know quite how to proceed. Should I run as fast as I can in the 5K? If I do, it increases my chances of winning an award in that race, but also hinders my performance in the 10K. The start of the 5K is a madhouse, with people cutting in on both sides of the course, so I decided to go hard in the 5K, but not as hard as I could. Does that make sense? In other words, I tried to save something for the 10K, in which I have a better chance to win an award.
I lost about 30 seconds at the start of the 5K. I did the first mile in 7:15. I wish slow runners would go to the back. What are they proving by cutting in, other than that they're inconsiderate? Some of us are trying to run fast, which is all but impossible when you're dodging slowpokes. (I had to get that off my chest; sorry.)
I did the second mile in 6:51 and the final 1.107 miles at a 6:52.64 pace, which gave me an overall mile pace of 6:59.31. (Elapsed time = 21:42.8.) A year ago, on the same course, in similar conditions, I had an overall mile pace of 6:52.92. Yikes! I'm getting old and slow!
But wait. I did better in the 10K than I did a year ago, when I won the second-place trophy in my age group (men 50-54). The 10K course is hilly, but somehow I clicked off three good miles: 6:59, 6:59, and 7:00. My overall mile pace a year ago was 7:05.04. Could I break seven minutes? I decided to keep a steady pace and see where things stood at five miles. If I was in the vicinity of seven minutes, I would go for it.
I did the fourth mile in 7:11, which gave me an overall pace of 7:02. Still close. Everything depended on the fifth mile, which had some small hills. I did the fifth mile in 7:16, which gave me an overall pace of 7:05. Heck with breaking seven minutes! I just wanted to beat my 2008 pace! I picked it up in the sixth mile with 7:06, which put me at 7:05 overall. I sprinted hard for the final .214 mile (a 5:51.86 pace) and ended up with 7:02.64. (Elapsed time = 43:46.3.) I didn't break seven minutes, but I beat the previous year's mark. This was my fastest 10K since 7 December 2002, when I was a mere kid. There were 13 10Ks between that race and today's.
During the fifth mile of the 10K, a girl caught me. "How old are you?" I asked as she passed. She looked back and said, "12." "You're doing great," I said; "keep it up." It occurred to me that she was young enough to be my granddaughter. I would be so proud to have a grandson or granddaughter who could run like that. During the sixth mile, I came upon the girl walking. In my sternest grandfatherly voice, I said, "Keep going; don't stop." I heard her start running, and she wasn't far behind me (two seconds) at the finish. (She won her age group handily.) I patted her on the back as I gasped for air and told her that she did well. It's great to see a new generation experience the horrors of running.
The race results have been posted. In the 5K, I finished 134th overall of 1,915 finishers (top 6.9%). I finished 111th of 1,018 males (top 10.9%) and seventh of 76 men in my age group (top 9.2%). Only the top three get awards. In the 10K, I finished 76th overall of 1,024 finishers (top 7.4%). I finished 66th of 550 males (top 12.0%) and second of 45 men in my age group (top 4.4%). The only man who beat me in my age group was just 11.3 seconds ahead of me. If he had passed me, I would be disappointed in myself; but nobody passed me in the final two miles except that girl. I must have been bearing down on him during the course of the race.
In case you're wondering, the running was awful. I hated every second of it and couldn't wait for it to end. I think I put myself through this because, in other respects, my life is calm and pleasant, almost Kantian. When you suffer, as I did today, you know, as sure as you ever know anything, that you are alive. I suffer; therefore, I am.
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 