There Are Other People Who Run?

I obviously want to be an incredibly fast runner and I want to be everybody’s role model. That’s why, whenever anybody at work asks me how fast I can run, I roll my eyes and give them my best 15-year-old girl impression: “Like, really fast, okay? Duh!”

So I probably shouldn’t have been surprised on Thursday when I showed up to work, ready to participate with eight other colleagues in the Vermont Corporate Cup 5K, and people suggested that I was going to win. Nevermind that last year’s winner finished in under 17 minutes or that I’ve been training to slog through a 26.2-mile meat grinder rather than a sprint, but for some reason I accepted the encouragement. And so, ego duly inflated, I strode towards the front of the crowd at the starting line and waited impatiently for the gun to go off so I could get my win on.

The race? Not great. Here’s a recount of my stream of consciousness during the 3.1-mile run:

Where did all these people come from? That girl is wearing my shirt. Who does she think she is? If I can just sneak around this guy … yes … elbows out! Now I’m flying. That woman in the orange vest is being a jerk. I’d rather get run over on the car-side of these traffic cones than be trampled by runners. Seriously—where did they come from? I know I can pass more of them. Yeah! This is amazing. I’ve never been so fast. I feel great! It’s so sunny. It’s like, really sunny. I’m hot. Who put that hill there? Oh. My. God. That dude sounds like he’s having trouble breathing. OK, focus. Relax. No one else here. No one at all. Not a single pers—WHOA, that little kid almost knocked me over! It’s hot. I want to stop. Can I stop? I’ll tell everyone I got sick or something. Half a mile left. The hill up Bailey Street is going to stink. Hey, I know that girl! Oh no, she’s passing me. So’s that girl. And that little boy. What, is he like, 12? Crud. I want to stop. My legs are so tired. Stop. Stop. Last leg here … oh no, look at all the people sprinting by. Okay, that’s it then.

I didn’t actually stop, but I finished six seconds later than last year. I should have been pleased because the difference wasn’t significant and I’d been thrilled with my 2011 time. Instead, I kicked up some grass on the State House lawn and complained to my poor coworkers, who had just suffered through the same course and didn’t seem to mind, after all, that I hadn’t won the whole thing.

The problem wasn’t really my finish time, though. The problem was my race experience. I’d gone into it brimming with confidence and ignored the hard lessons I’d already learned about pace. You know, start off easy and wait until the final leg to open the jets. Instead, I sprinted at the beginning and subsequently melted into a puddle of detrimental thoughts. Compared to a beautiful 12-mile hilly course I’d run alone the weekend before, the Corporate Cup was stressful, rugged, and drawn-out.

So here’s the thing: I’m not a competitor. But I am running a marathon next weekend with up to 3,000 other runners, and I’d better be ready to toss around in a sea of runners who want to finish just as badly as I will. You know how hearing the word “relax” mostly just provokes people to do exactly the opposite? In the same way, I know I can’t simply remind myself to keep an even pace or be positive. But as long as I don’t forget the following four things, I know I’ll be OK:

• 1. Don’t expect, not for a second, to come even close to winning.
• 2. In fact, remember that my goal is simply to finish.
• 3. And beat Oprah’s time.
• 4. Running is fun. I really, truly love running.