Finishing Strong - Part Uno — Christopher A. Lane

Back in the day, back when women were defined in the dictionary as “adult female human beings,” before the onset of overpriced cars with no internal combustion engines and really long extension cords, back when masks were for costume parties, when only Dick Tracy had a telephone/watch, back when Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, in his quest for a Section 8, was the only wackadoo trotting around in a dress... You know, back in the late 20th century... Back then, I used to do a lot of fun runs.

If you aren’t familiar with “fun runs,” the first thing you need to know about them is that they are sarcastically named. While they do include running, they do not involve much in the way of fun. What they involve is paying money to stand in a thick pack of anxious, borderline anorexic, scantily clad Olympian wannabes, wishing you had gone to the bathroom one last time, waiting in the withering heat/extreme cold (depending on the season) for a starter’s pistol to go off, at which point a rather unforgiving human stampede ensues. If you survive the initial onslaught of pushing, shoving, and swearing, and escape the flurry of manic limbs and panicked feet without injury, you then have the unique and exciting opportunity to move as fast as your lungs and legs will allow, eventually (most of the time) crossing a finish line where an inferior-quality T-shirt bearing an amateurish race logo is thrust at you. I remember proudly donning those cherished shirts and wearing them for approximately an hour, until I got home and stuffed them into a drawer crammed with other crappy race T-shirts.

Good times!

In the years since those lovely experiences, I have done my best to incorporate the lessons learned into both my running and my life.

While nearly all of the dozens and dozens of wonderful fun runs I participated in back in the day were a. overpriced, b. poorly marked (Signs, people, put up some signs!) and c. parking nightmares, there were two that stand out in my memory as events that actually had a lasting impact on my life. They remain fresh in my mind to this day – in a haunting, nightmarish kind of way.

The first was a 10K I did in Pittsburgh one summer. If you’ve ever been to Pittsburgh in the summer, you know where I’m going with this. Despite an early start, the temperature was in the 80s and the humidity was hovering at around 1652%. I was just visiting and hadn’t run much under those conditions. I was, however, young and dumb. Thus, I started fast and accelerated through the first half of the race. The second half of this fun run, as I recall, was the antithesis of fun and contained very little running. It’s the only race in which I actually stopped and walked. In addition to the weather, there were hills that, in my altered state of consciousness, seemed to rival K2. I eventually finished the race, but it was ugly.

Speaking of ugly finishes, that sums up my one and only marathon. It was in Virginia Beach. I was going to school out there and thought that pounding the pavement for 26.2 miles sounded like a good idea. (More youngness and dumbness.) I trained all winter for this one, was in decent shape, had multiple long runs under my belt, and was feeling borderline cocky. For the first 18 miles, things went great. The not-so-great part came when I hit the infamous wall. My mistake, once again, was going out too fast. Furthermore, in a momentary burst of genius, in order to maintain my pace, I refused to slow for water at the aid stations. Humongous mistake.

As I get closer to the end of my own race (yep, birthday recently) and contemplate the distance remaining (unknown), my goal is to finish strong.

Post mile 18, I didn’t walk. I just got slower and slower and s-l-o-w-e-r... until it probably looked like I was running in about 4 feet of mud. When I reached the final 100 yards, I began to get lightheaded and basically staggered across the finish line. I spent the following 12 hours lying on the floor of my apartment, clutching my new race t-shirt, suffering from dehydration, exhaustion, and cramping every time I even considered moving.

You might be thinking that it doesn’t get much better than that. Actually, it does. It gets WAY better than that. Which is why, in the years since those lovely experiences, I have done my best to incorporate the lessons learned into both my running and my life. The big three takeaways:

1. Don’t pay perfectly good money for a crummy shirt.

2. Drink more water.

3. Don’t go out too fast.

That last one is especially applicable to all of us. Unless you get hit by a bus or something, life tends to be a long, LONG race. Burnout is a clear and present danger if you don’t pace yourself. As I get closer to the end of my own race (yep, birthday recently) and contemplate the distance remaining (unknown), my goal is to finish strong. I don’t want to run out of gas and have to limp and stumble my way to the finish line. Neither do I want to leave a huge reserve in the tank and just coast home.

It's a tricky balance that, I’m beginning to realize, takes finesse and careful strategy. More on this subject next time.