How Not to Run a 10K

Sunday, as I was doing my 10K run, memories of the last race I ran came flooding towards me. This was the race after which I swore I would never race again.

It was nearly 8 years ago to the month.  I remember it well because it was the Hospice 10K in Winston- Salem, North Carolina.  I was running the race in honor of my mother who had died of cancer that previous fall.  Part of my entry fee went towards placing a marker bearing her name along the race route.

The hospice people here in LA had been amazing throughout my mother’s illness.  I don’t think my father could have gotten along without them.  And although I got out to LA many times and for extended periods, reality is that I was just a passer-through in the drama that unfolded month after month as my mother slowly faded from this world.  It was my father...and hospice…in attendance through it all.

This race was total disaster for me.  I did absolutely everything wrong:

1)    I didn’t train for the 6 mile distance

2)    I scheduled the race without looking at my menstrual cycle…I got my period the morning of the race.

3)    I arrived late and hadn’t checked the parking situation out.  I drove around for what seemed like an hour trying  to find where I was supposed to park and arrived really late to pick up my packet…in a total panic.

4)    I didn't stretch or warm up

5)    I didn’t eat before the race.

D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R!

The other thing I didn’t count on was my emotional state.  I had been holding all my pain and grief inside, burying myself in the distraction of my work so that I wouldn’t feel anything. Our bodies know better.

As the race began my cramps were in full swing.  Things were OK for the first 2 miles or so, and then I began to feel extraordinary fatigue.  The course involved a couple of fairly steep hills and by the time I crested the second one I thought I was going to pass out.  My pace slowed to a crawl.  I was passed up by nearly everyone, including a 75-year old woman pushing her grandchild in a jogging stroller. 

As I rounded the final turn, I saw it.  It was my mother’s marker.  That was it.  My tears gushed forth and I couldn’t see where I was going or what I was doing.  My legs ached, my head hurt.  I just had to finish…not much further to go.

I did finish that race – nearly dead last.  I munched an overripe banana from one of the expo tables and sat on the bleachers alone.  It was at that moment that I vowed that I would never race again.  And I never have.  Until now.

So here I am after 8 years, training once again for a race.  It’s taken me a long time to get back up on the horse.  I’ve been running consistently all this time, but never could bring myself to commit to training for an event. 

I do feel a little bit of fear to be honest with you, but at this point, I can overcome.  At some point, we have to put our memories aside and move forward.  This time I will run the race that I wanted to run for her. 

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