My mental circus, inside and out.

the race

The weather for the race this morning was absolutely wretched.   Thunder.  Lightning.  The runners sat in their cars on the parking field waiting for it to blow over, but made a dash across the sodden grass to the school gym when it was close to race time.  They delayed it.   We couldn't outrun lightning.   My shoes were soaked. My headband seemed superfluous.  Finally, the rain stopped, and hundreds of us poured from the gym and down the street, gathered in a big crowd at the starting line.  This time, I put myself in the middle so that I wouldn't get trapped behind the walkers. We bounced. We twisted.  We stretched.  And off we went.   I was running as hard as I could, my heartrate monitor beeping like code red! code red!, but I always find that i'm in a middle pace where the crowd thins out, lots of people faster, lots of people slower.  I run alone in the peaceful middle,  like being in the eye of a hurricane.  Coming around the last quarter mile, I speed up, seeing what I think is the finish line in the distance.  I am cranking at my fastest pace, maybe an 8 minute mile, someone yells, "good pace!" Then one of the team comes out and starts running with me.  Some tall long-legged man.  I am running too hard to speak, we run past the finish but No.  That is not the real finish.  "50 yards to go," he says.  I say, "What??" "Keep going, keep going!"  I'm dead.  I'm busting a gut. I slow down.  He looks disappointed.  Someone snaps my picture. I try to speed up as fast as I can.  I cross the finish.  Now I'm waiting for the chip results.  I think of Lance, who won his race today.

Posted by: EmmaPele at July 25, 2005 00:31 | link | comments