So I ran in a 5 kilometer (3.1 mile) road race today, part of the insanely elaborate "Defeat of Jesse James Days" festival here in Northfield. (It's Minnesota's biggest all-volunteer community event!)
The race was hugely fun, and, hilariously, it appears that I won my age group with a time of 22:02, good for 18th overall in a men's field of 122, 4:07 back of the winner. There were only five guys in my age group, and most of the really speedy runners were in the knee-grindingly long 15km that went off at the same time, but still, I get a prize! I'm on pins and needles wondering what it will be. Rest assured I'll blog it here.
This was my first running race since the end of the track season during my senior year of high school, and the race accordingly felt pretty weird. I started running with a friend, but we were separated in the start-line scrum when a zillion high-schoolers can blasting through (only to fade on the only decent hill). Running alone, I felt like I was going very slow, yet ran far faster than I had in any training session. Though I could hardly register my time and heart-rate data on my watch, I pretty much stuck to my race plan, maintaining a good pace and ceding just one place after the initial sort-out in the first mile. I did almost get into a bit of trouble at mile two when a couple guys veered in front of me to get Gatorade at the aid station: an energy drink in a three-mile race? Useless, man. And I felt a bit embarrassed to be enjoying the cheers of the spectators: I'd forgotten about that almost primal surge of energy you can get from other people's shouts and yells.