Race Morning: It's 8:07 a.m. and my race is supposed to start in three minutes. For social distancing purposes, 40 runners are released at a time at intervals throughout the day. My appointment was at 8:10. The problem is that I have just come out of the bathroom, a solid five minute walk from the start line. To make matters worse, I hear the announcer tell the 8:10 runners to start their race. It was just that kind of day, and it would only get worse.
8:08: I being to panic and lightly jog toward the start line. I'm afraid that if I miss my appointment time, they won't let me run at all. There are only 40 spots per corral, and they might be all booked. I figure that if I can get to the start line before they release the next wave of runners at 8:15 (which might actually be at 8:12, by their schedule), they have to let me run. I hate that I'm spending this much energy before the race even starts, but I'd hate even more to have to turn around and drive home.
8:12: I make it to the start line and a crew member asks if I'm in the 8:20 or 8:25 flight. When I tell him I was supposed to be 8:10, he tells me to stand in with the 8:15 crew, as there are a couple spots left open. I fidget with my running watch and headphones, as the announcer almost immediately counts down ten seconds to the start. As I cross the start line, I realize that I forgot to take my mask off.
Mile One: I pull of my mask, which rips off my headphones. I fumble for them while I run. Usually, before a race I stop to reflect, say a prayer of thanks that I'm healthy enough to be here, and remind myself not to go out too fast. The first rule of distance running is that if your first mile doesn't feel too slow, then you are running too fast. I didn't get to go through any of my normal process this time, so I just have to try to stay calm and hope for the best. My first mile time turns out faster than I wanted, but I feel like I went at comfortable pace. I remind myself that it is nice to be running again. I remind myself that I wasn't sure MS would ever let me do this again, after my relapse last fall took a bit out of the nerve connections in my right hip. But my hip calmed down, and my training seemed to hit its stride (see what I did there?) in the last few weeks, and I'm optimistic I can run faster than ever.
Mile Two: I finally start to relax, after a Sunday morning where everything went wrong.
The race was about 40 minutes from my apartment, at the Atlanta Motor Speedway, where there was lots of room for runners to spread out across the grounds. I had decided to get to the race site by 7:15, which meant leaving my place by about 6:30. I was ready at 6:15, but my stomach was not. I felt a ton of bricks inside of me, but nothing wanted to come out. I waited around an extra 15 minutes, but it was a lost cause. I walked to my car, resigned to the idea of having to get comfortable with a port-a-potty at the race site, which has always been my absolute worst nightmare. I think about just calling the whole race off as I reach my car, when suddenly I feel like maybe I could go to the bathroom right now after all. So I walk back inside my place, but get no relief. I make it back to my car at 7:00 and head toward the track.
I make it to the track by 7:40 and am pleasantly surprised to see actual bathrooms outside the Speedway, but I don't really have to go anymore. That changes, of course, 15 minutes before the race. Better late than never, but I am late as a result. And I used up a lot of energy stressing about that, iffy directions to the parking area on my GPS, and forgetting my sunglasses.
Mile 3: I'm running down a steep hill, which I did not expect. I am not happy about this. I know that in another mile I'm going to have to turn around and run back up it. Yikes.
Mile 4: The first three miles went great, and the weather is cool and foggy. I had been worried, because the forecast called for temperatures in the 60's, but 99 percent humidity. My MS can't handle heat, and I was hoping the overcast skies would save me. So far so good.
Mile 6: I'm cruising along right around the overall pace I wanted, but my last two miles were a little slow. The course elevation chart promised that miles 4 and 5 would be downhill, and I had expected to gain some time on them. They didn't feel downhill at all, and mile 4 forced me to run up the side of a mountain. Even, worse the sun is breaking through the clouds. That was not supposed to happen.
In my head, I demand a recount.
Mile 6.55: I hit the halfway point, and I'm on pace of a 1:48 race. That is slower than I wanted. Luckily, there is an aid stand at mile 7.3, where I can get Powerade. My water bottle is almost empty, because I've been pouring it over my head to stay cool.
Mile 7: It's getting too sunny. My last mile was slow and I begin to wonder if I can run six more miles. I grab a Powerade and feel the overwhelming urge to stop running. When I'm merely fatigued, I can usually grind out about four miles between when I want to stop and when I can't go anymore. When I get overheated, I go blind in my left eye and my energy evaporates over the course of about a mile. I realize that I can't run anymore.
I stand still and down an entire bottle of Powerade. After using what little energy I have in an epic struggle to twist the top of a Dasani water bottle and refill my container. I walk for a few feet, as race volunteers cheer for me. I feel a little better after my hydration stop, but this mile took me more than 10 minutes. It's by far the worst mile of my racing life.
Mile 9: I've sputtered through the last two miles. It feels like I'm running underwater. The sun comes and goes, but the humidity is oppressive regardless. I've lost all hope of finishing with a good time, I now just want to finish. The race has been around the outside of the stadium thus far, but it actually enters the inside oval of the Speedway at mile 10. I tell myself that maybe adrenaline will carry me once I make it that far. In the meantime, I have to start walking again.
Mile 10: I'm inside the race track. The stands are big and it's probably a cool sight, but I'm too exhausted to take it in. The final 3 miles consist of two laps around the race track. As I alternate walking and jogging, I urge myself to complete at least one lap. I've come this far, I owe it to myself to do at least that. If I can't do a second lap, at least I'll already be at the finish line, and I can just grab some bananas and collapse.
Mile 11.5: I've finished one lap. There a good number of others walking by this point, as the same people and I keep taking turns passing each other based on who has energy at a given moment. I realize that if I can finish the last 1.5 miles at a pace that isn't atrocious, I can at least beat my time previous worst half marathon time, from the first race I had ever run. I realize that even if I have to walk the last 1.5 miles, I'll feel better about myself if I at least complete the distance.
Mile 12.99: It would be wrong to say I found a second wind, but I managed to jog the entire last mile without a walk break. I'm not necessarily going any faster than the others on the course who are alternating running and walking, but I feel like if I stop again then I'll never get restarted.
Mile 13.1: This is supposed to be the end, but the course is too long. Most I look down at my watch at mile 13.08 and see that I can hit the 13.1 mark faster than my prior personal worst race time. I pick up my speed from that of a snail to that of a turtle, in order to hit the 13.1 mark two seconds ahead of my prior worst time. Sadly, the course is too long, and the actual finish line is further ahead. I don't get there for another 40 seconds.
The Finish: There is no joy at the finish line. I cross it and grab onto a railing for a few seconds to hold myself upright. I pick up a packet of goodies and head out of the stadium. As I leave it, I see other people with race medals. I wonder how I missed getting one. I ponder going back inside to get it, but I decide that I might not want to remember this particular race.
As I drive home, I think of all the things that what went wrong. I had too heavy of a meal the day before. I should have left earlier for the race that morning. I should have signed up for an earlier time when it would have been cooler. I consider whether I should have skipped the race when I saw the humidity forecast. I wonder if maybe MS has finally gotten the best of my running career. It was the my tenth half marathon, but my worst official time, and the only one where I feel like I failed.
I call my wife and describe my flameout, and she asks if I am sorry that I signed up for the race. I hadn't considered that question, and my answer surprises me.
"No," I realize. Between Covid and an ankle injury, I hadn't run a race in 21 months. It was nice to be out there. I felt more connected to my new city by having completed its signature race. Despite MS, I finished in a time that would appear at least respectable, even to someone who didn't know my situation. I gave it my best shot.
There was a time in my life where I would have beaten myself up over a failure like this. But this time, I was just proud of myself for finishing. I know what I overcame to do it, even if my result wasn't what I wanted.
I don't want life with MS to reduce me to only moral victories, but this seemed more like a moral failure. I failed to come anywhere near the time I wanted, but my morale was lifted regardless, because I found more willpower than I thought I had to finish it all. A calmer morning and a better diet might have helped at the margins, but nothing would have helped all that much. I was running underwater in a sauna.
The race was a disappointment, but it softens the blow to know that it was my first race of the spring season. I'll be better for having already trained for this one, and maybe I'll even enjoy the next. One thing is for sure, I am absolutely not retiring on a low like this. My hip held out for the run, which means the nerve connection is still intact enough to let me try again. One bad race was a setback, rather than a dead end.
When the official results came out that afternoon, I was surprised to find that my time was in the top half of male runners my age. I guess the humidity was cruel on others too. I was also surprised to find a race medal inside of that packet of goodies I got at the finish.
In retrospect, I think I'm glad to have it after all.
