Running My First Race at The Dunkin Run

My greatest competition is myself.

The night before my first competitive 5K race, I opted out of evening festivities for Dog-Owned Life blogger Mark Ramirez’s bachelor party so that I could get some rest before the event. I did some laundry before turning in and setting my alarm for 5:30am so that I could catch the first bus out of Troy to Albany at 6:30am.

For whatever reason, I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know if everyone quite had this experience, but the best I can equate it with was the feeling I’d get the night before the first day of classes. I’d be excited and anticipate going, but I’d also have a heavy sense of uncertainty and dread that tied a Gordian knot in my stomach.

I put on an episode of “Wire in the Blood” on Netflix Instant Viewing and still couldn’t sleep. Then I played some comedy records, which almost but not quite did the trick.

I finally ended up going out at around 1:00am.

I woke up at 5:00am. It was a little earlier than I’d intended, but I didn’t want to take any chances. I turned off all my alarms and took a shower, my body tense and anxious even with the gentle flow of hot water. I rode my bike downtown and waited for the 22 to take me to Albany.

I arrived in Albany at the corner of State and James and rode my bike up to the Armory to catch the 18 to the race. I figured I’d have plenty of time to stretch out and get myself mentally prepared. So I waited for the 18 bus…and waited…and waited.

I finally resigned myself to the fact that the bus wasn’t coming. Later on in the day I realized I was looking at the wrong schedule; there was no 18 bus on Sundays.

So I frantically rode up Delaware and onto Western, hoping beyond hope that I remembered the directions to the event correctly.

I didn’t.

I stopped at a gas station and found out I’d gone a bit too far and that my memory had once again failed me spectacularly. I got directions and rode again, hard as I could, for ten minutes.

For some reason it sorta looks like I have a mustache in this photo. Trust me, I don't.

I arrived at the event at 8:00am. I picked up my materials and saw fellow blogger Chuck Miller, who’d come to show his support and snap some photos (his blog about the event here).

Having had a good 30+ minute warm-up on my bike, I stretched out and started getting myself prepared for the event. Chuck took notice of my nerves, and I tried my best to keep my mind off what had been at this point a fairly clumsy journey to the race.

I ran into an old friend, Josh, and we decided to start off the race together. We shared our goals with each other: mine was to get under 27 minutes. The best time I ever had was 26:45 or so on a treadmill, and that was at the beginning of the year; I hadn’t broken 27 minutes since. His was to break 28 minutes.

We got ready and I pressed play on my clunky old video iPod. It may not look fashionable, but David Bowie, A.C. Newman, and The New Pornographers would get me through my run. After some awkward and nervous fumbling, I gave one last fist pound to my buddy Josh. I got ready and waited eagerly for the start.

Breaking my form in epic fashion. Notice both feet off the ground.

The airhorn blew and my nerves were still with me. I kept my usual pace, but my form got very sloppy. I was aware that both my feet were leaving the ground at time and that I was expending unnecessary energy, but the moment and the events leading up to it had gotten the best of me.

I didn’t get correct until the first turn, maybe about a quarter of a mile in. Then my form returned. I started passing younger people who I never saw again. A man older than I’ll ever be at one point blew by me, but I had to resign myself to the fact that he’s been doing it his whole life and probably took performance enhancing drugs.

As I hit the second mile, something went wrong. I felt my stomach tight and tense up, and suddenly I had what felt like a stitch on my entire abdomen. I realize now what it was: an inadequate breakfast, eating dinner too late last night, and not doing core exercises before I ran. That last part sounds odd, but I’ve always included some core work as part of my stretching regiment. I suppose my body got a bit too used to it.

Let's do this!

Regardless, I ignored it and just turned everything off. I focused on how far I was from the finish. I was about a quarter of a mile from the final turn and I saw people coming opposite me. These were men and women that were going to better my time by about ten minutes, and it broke my heart.

It’s not that I honestly believed I would win, nor should I have expected to finish anywhere near the top of the pack. I was a part-time runner for all of a couple months, what else could I expect?

Still, it was disheartening. I almost wanted to stop right then and there. So, again, I turned everything off and focused on getting around the final bend, at which point there would be about a mile plus left. I pushed a little bit, keeping pace for a while before I started pacing one or two women in front of me. Another runner passed me, and I did what I could to catch up.

I saw the marker for mile 3 and pushed myself, breaking my stride for a full-on sprint. I kicked myself for not realizing how far along I was and not starting it sooner. As I approached the finish line, I saw the clock reading 26:25 and pointed to it.

26:30, official. I’d beaten my best time and my goal by almost a half a minute.

Chuck was there and congratulated me. I waited around for a minute and Josh Terry came through, beating his goal of getting under 28 minutes.

I had a banana, hung out for a bit, and did my usual post-run stretches. Then I rode my bike down New Scotland, headed towards home.

Thanks to Chuck Miller for the photos.