My First 5k

When people ask me what I did Saturday morning, it seems natural to say I ran a 5k. 

It's not entirely untrue, but to say I ran 5k doesn't indicate what actually happened. 

"I jogged/walked/crawled/laid face down/curled up in a fetal position in the street crying like a little baby in the Hot Chocolate 5k in Dallas." 

Yeah, that takes too long, and garners strange looks. 

It was the second 5k I had signed up for, but the first I actually competed in.

There I go again.  Did I really compete? 

I guess that depends on your definition of competition.  I guess I competed against myself.  I really only had two goals for the race:

1. To NOT finish last
2. To at least be upright when I crossed the finish line

I didn't finish last.  Granted, I had to push over the little old lady with the walker to finish ahead of her, but I wasn't last. 

And I was upright when I crossed the finish line.  I was dizzy and hallucinating, but I was upright.

I got out of bed in North Richland Hills  in time to be in Fair Park for the 7:30 AM start.  It is February, but most of the week, it had been 70 degrees.  Saturday morning, it was 29 degrees, with a wind chill of 11 to 15 degrees.  Who decides to have a race that early on a Saturday morning, anyway?  Those early hours are for runners who are competing in marathons.  Everyone knows they're just crazy anyway. 

So we approached the starting point with a few thousand other people, and began the "race".  I wasn't alone.  My wife was with me, and our daughter and her friend met us there.  As soon as the race started, our daughter and her friend left us behind.  Three blocks in, my wife left me behind.  I'm not really sure why.  It seemed perfectly natural to be crying.  I had already been jogging for close to a minute.  Apparently no one else wanted to talk to the crying 45-year old, either.  That's okay.  Even if I had been able to talk, it wouldn't have been much of a conversation.

Them: "Morning, how you doing?"
Me: "Ahwhoog.  Umgblug..."

I had read several forum postings about how to prep for a race.  What to eat the days leading up, how much water to drink, what to eat or not eat on the morning of the race, etc.  I thought I knew what to expect.  I had even looked up this route online.  But as I rounded a corner, my heart stopped. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead was something no one had warned me about. 

There, ahead of me, were hundreds of people running the up-side of a bridge.  Seriously?  Who planned this route?  There are hundreds of roads in Dallas...surely there could have been a route planned that didn't involve hills.  I'll be 46-years old in two weeks.  I should have been sleeping in, and enjoying a nice morning of bacon and pancakes. I should have been watching television in bed in my robe.  But there I was, "running" early in the morning on a Saturday, in frigid temperatures, and there are hills?  What was I thinking?

I jogged some, and even ran a little.  I walked most of it.  42 minutes and 25 seconds after starting, I was crossing the finish line. 

Not impressive by any means to anyone.  But as I crossed the finish line, I only had enough oxygen to muster one thought:

"I actually did it."