On the (5k) Run

On Thanksgiving Day, I participated in a 5-kilometer run, the Turkey Trot, held at the beautiful Dana Point Harbor in Dana Point, California. The following is a look back at what I went through for this, my specific training, preparation for the event, the race itself, and what participating accomplished for me as an individual on the 5k run.

The idea for a runner’s story had been with me for a long time, I considered it a follow-up to a similar story I had written many years ago while attending Saddleback Junior College, though my committing to this run came a mere five days before the event. This does explain why the only pictures of me running are in black and white.

My friend Ron offered me his spot in the race after he was hurt and unable to participate. Ron is a big guy and if he could attempt this run for a good cause, why couldn’t I, especially with him covering the entry fee and my having an entire week to prepare?

Images of the late sportswriter George Plimpton tripping over his own feet while attempting to quarterback the Detroit Lions for a story and the later book Paper Lions haunted my imagination. However, Plimpton had never played quarterback before, and it was my hope that running would be like riding a bike. This hope turned out to be a mistake, my first.

My initial training effort was spent looking for my old running shoes, a pair of lucky blue Adidas that certainly remained boxed in the garage, somewhere. On the second evening I finally located those Adidas in the last box I investigated, an obvious statement as I was able to quit looking when they were found. The box included a few 8-track tapes, Beta-max videos of “Rocky III” and “Rocky IV”, a Commodore 64 computer, and a Members Only jacket. Greatly hindering my search was this box was mislabeled as “Save Important”, but hey, I did still fit in the jacket.

This proved to be the extent of my actual training, or more accurately is the representation of my lack of actual training, and my second mistake. On the positive side, I won’t have to go on and on here any longer regarding the difficulty of my training regimen.

The morning of the run I awoke early and briefly reconsidered my coffee before rushing it down with a light breakfast, acutely aware that any excess weight I carried would be lugged with me for five kilometers which, since I was part of the generation that rebelled against going metric, I knew to be approximately 3 and 105,856 millionths of a mile.

Though Ron could not run, he offered to drive us to the race together, knowing his gesture would be appreciated on the way home. We covered the drive to the race site along the Pacific coast in about 10 minutes, arriving in ample time for checking in and preparation for the race start.

After briefly explaining Ron’s injury, and a cursory glance at me to determine I was not a ringer, the registration desk was gracious enough to allow me to run in Ron’s place. I then was presented with a t-shirt which was rightfully Ron’s, a runner’s bib with my race number, and a timing chip that was attached to my shoes. With that, I was pronounced ready to take my place with the runners.

At this point Ron parted my company to mingle in the crowd and get some shots, he didn’t have a camera, and those shots did lead to me driving home, but I am getting ahead of myself. I began my way to the start line, with over 10,000 runners registered for the event, it seemed more concise to call this a starting mob.

As I paced and readied for the start of the run an older couple befriended me with some conversation. The white-haired pair shared they have enjoyed running together in events such as this for years. They were so cute together with their matching outfits, from the lime green caps on their gray heads to their lime green running shoes, there was really no way one could miss them.

As our talk continued, I commented on several groups running by us and joked that perhaps we had missed the start. They both laughed and replied together to me that those runners were completing their pre-run warm-up. I smiled at them to show my appreciation for their laughter and to hide the thought in my head, “pre-run warm-up?” Mistake number three.

The next memory is of the crowd beginning to move forward and my keeping pace among a group for as long as possible. I don’t remember much of the run after about the first quarter mile, or four-tenths of a kilometer, of distance. My vision became a blur and all I could hear in my head and ears was the pounding of my heart and the gasping in my lungs.

I did finish, there was no need to check the timed result, it had felt like half of my life. My immediate concern was the feeling that my legs were no longer communicating with my brain stem. Once I stopped moving my lower extremities were behaving like a dog who didn’t want to get in a bathtub, an outright refusal to budge despite the command.

The results of this venture included waking the next several mornings and having to lift my legs over the side of my bed, the inability to climb or descend stairways for a week afterward, and recurring nightmares that featured two sets of lime green running shoes blazing past me, and their laughter, that evil laughter.

The run was for a good cause, and it was utterly amazing to see there were so many participants who came out. I did come away with several valuable life lessons learned, commit to losing a few pounds, eat a nutritious diet, get proper rest, and strive to live a healthier lifestyle. That way, if Ron can do those things, next year he will be running, and I will drive.

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