My First Race

Yesterday, I ran my first race. It was a chilly Tuesday afternoon in Central Park. This race had no starting line, no finish line, no bib with my name and number, no medals - nothing; It was a race against the clock. The previous week, I had run with my first jogging partner, Shalom, who, although in very good shape couldn't maintain a running pace through six miles. He had not run in years, and the fact that we finished in 64 minutes was extremely impressive on his part. That is over a 10 minute pace (the average amount of time taken to complete a mile.) and 5.6 average MPH. It was a decent time for me: I still consider myself a beginner, but I was determined to complete the central park 6 mile loop in under 60 minutes.

I began at a reasonable pace. The motivational playlist I had made in the subway kept pushing me forward. I thought my time was on target.

But it's difficult to tell. I don't have the nike+ system yet, that gives you all the info you could possibly want, so I base my speed off other runners. When I see someone who is gaining on me I judge whether he/she is an expert, if so, I set a goal point where I will be when he passes me. When I see a slower runner up ahead, I pick up my speed and try to pass him. This method keeps me running at a competitive pace, and prevents my zoning out only to find myself slowly jogging for 20 minutes.

So, I was on my third mile and I see someone wearing all black sharply contrasted with his mousy gray hair. I was going up a hill around 110th street alongside of the mossy cavernous rocks. At that point I was feeling a little fatigued. He was running at a good pace. He knew what he was doing. He had a unique form - and spandex. I generally assume the tighter the spandex the better the runner. (I plan to purchase very tight spandex soon.) Every time he got within 10 feet, I began a short tempo run for 30 seconds, but after two of these I realized the energy bar I had eaten before the run had worn off.

So I decided to let him pass me. He makes it alongside of me, looks me in the eye. This 65 year old guy looks me in the eye with a devilish smirk and gives me a thumbs up which proclaimed, 'good job kid, but let the senior citizen show you how it's done.'

And then he was 10 feet ahead of me. And then the course sloped down-hill. And then I tap into the mental energy that takes over when your body tells you no more. And then I lean forward, almost tippng and begin to sprint down the hill, a jackrabbit would have been left in my dust, 15 seconds later I tear ahead.

I didn't even stop to return his thumbs up, no smile, nothing I wanted to be in front. But he was relentless. He picked up his pace and soon we were just even when I began to thrust myself forward and continued this for at least a minute. I thought I had him beat.

I remembered a time when I would mindfully not walk past old people because it may make them feel slow and old and in the way and the world is passing them by. I would walk slowly behind the elderly. I realized now I was running my heart out to pass the elderly. I laughed and sped up.

I looked back to see him getting smaller as he got farther. Then he turned into the park and out of sight. I thought he had given up, when in fact he decided to cheat. He made a couple of short cuts through the park. About a minute later, I see the same guy, now 30-40 feet ahead of me, looking back, smiling. I was around the low 80s and my end point was 59th street. If I was going to win, I would need to do it now and faster than I had been going at the climax of my run.

It was then "crazy" by Gnarles Barkley came blaring through my iPod earphones and I knew, even though my legs felt like they were on fire, I was gonna finish before this senior cheating citizen. There was no hill to run down. There was only the blood pumping through my heart telling me this is yours, only 3 more minutes and then your home, then you win.

And I did. I passed him. I finished the Central Park 6 mile loop in 55 minutes, 9:16 pace/6.55 avg. MPH.

I gulped the cup of cold milk I buy from the kiosk on Columbus circle, feeling the ecstatic runner's high that makes a cold-cloudy day in central park more beautiful then the oceans of Tahiti (never been, heard it's nice). On the subway back I realized there was really no competition between myself and the old (cheating) man. That was all in my mind. The real race was against my stop watch; a race against myself. I won.

In truth the race against yourself is the only race. My sister, Elana, says Life is a race, it is long, and in the end of the day you are only running against yourself.

Happy trails,

combo