A brief respite to run the Boilermaker yesterday. The annual 15K festival in Utica, N.Y. The date falls right every six years when the first Sunday of the meet lines up with the date of the 9.3 mile run. We ran it in 2019, a long time ago. We ran it yesterday. Somehow.
Up at 4:10 a.m. Out the door at 5. Rest stop at 6:30. At the course by 6:45. At the start by 7:50. Starting gun at 8. Through the starting line by 8:05. And then the clock stood still.
The first band plays from a sidewalk stage.
Run run run run, run run run away…oh, oh, oh Psycho Killer
Qu’est-ce que c’est
Fa fa fa fa, fa fa fa fa fa far better
Run run run run, run run run away
Oh, oh, oh, ooh
Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ooh…
David Byrne fades in the distance as the first mile rolls past at 8:17. Feeling OK. Second mile by 8:29. Still OK. Now the hills. Up and through the golf course, mile 3, I think, by 8:45 ish. Time starts to static. I ease over to the grass, saving the joints. Pain starting. Where’s the water stop? Any ice? Runners are already walking. Walkers are already stopping. I see Tom Law and Cc Larner ahead, then lose them in the scrum, figuring they opened up again. A woman is on the ground, heaving, gasping, EMTs are racing up the shoulder. I think to myself, ‘Slow down brother, get home.’
Mile 4. Still too early for the abyss. I’m in a high lope, for me, heading downhill, feeling good. Maybe too fast down the hill as I start to feel it, around mile marker 5. Considering I haven’t run past 5 miles in years, I know it’s coming. I slow down, pour water over my head, ice in my mouth and under my hat. My no-sweat, wicking shirt weighs 10 pounds. I think about pulling it over my head. I don’t. Nobody needs that. I grab my first popsicle, cherry, and another, grape. They help. At least takes my mind off the task. My left hip starts to ache, I knew it was coming, a knife turning. Tighter by the step. I haven’t run this far in years. I try to stop my brain from telling my legs. Or is it the other way around?
Mile marker 6 is the worst. A long, slow, laborious climb, up over the bridge. I heard Cc say this was her least favorite part. Now I know why. I don’t hear The Talking Heads. Just my own talking head. Still so far to go. Men in marathon shirts are walking, stopping, another runner lies in a crumpled heap as more EMTs scramble into action. A skinny man, in a singlet and wispy shorts, the quintessential running man rolls past me, bare feet, black as night. He stops for a photo and then passes me for the second time. All I see are the bottoms of his feet. I angle to the double yellow line in the center and concentrate on it. I know I’m meant to be looking at the horizon, extending my stride or something Tom told me once, but instead, I look down and don’t think past each foot on each yellow line.
Mile 7 finally. OK. the corner is starting to turn. As bad as I feel, I know I can get home from here. Hold it together. That’s it, that’s all you’re doing now. Just hold it together. My stride is shortening, heavier with each step. Mile 8. The first opening, the first ray, the first realization. Cc blows past me to my right, I start to go with her, it would be fun to finish together. The notion lasts 10 strides, maybe five, I never see her again. It’s all pain now, but it’s in sight. I check my watch, .05 miles farther than the last time I checked. I force myself to not look again.
Finally Mile 9. Just .3 to go. It’s a long .3, the longest .3 of my life. I see a sign that says, “S E A N.” I pretend it’s for me and fist bump toward the girl who painted it. Then the finish line. I see it. Hold it together, don’t be that guy, that runner, that muscle-spasm limper. More runners are passing me than I’m passing now. That’s OK. Hold it together. The wire. Hit the watch. 1:40.36. Fade to a walk. Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking. Grab a water. A free bag of snacks. A banana. It’s over. Oh, in the name of Bill Rodgers, it’s it’s over.
Amongst The Special team, Ryan Clancy finished first, Joe Clancy finished second, Cc Larner finished third, I finished fourth (4,453rd). Tom Law played the sweeper. It’s important to always have a sweeper. Most importantly, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t be running the Boilermaker. The office rainmaker. We survived. And we escaped. Those are important elements, especially, during the eight-week stint in the Big Brother House of The Saratoga Special.
Back in the office Monday afternoon. Gearing up for Issue 3. A long way from the Boilermaker.
