RUNNING MY FIRST 5K RACE

Here is the second part of my observations on that God forsaken 5K. Friday came all too soon. I was stressed because I went to bed late and had to work all day at a different client’s office from 8am – 5pm. All day I used every opportunity to minimize using my legs to conserve as much energy as possible. I used the elevator to go one floor up or down, pulled myself around the office in a chair with wheels using only my arms, hell I even sat down to pee. I was desperate for any small boost! During the day it started to rain. The first time I’m meant to run a 5K I have to deal with cold and wet conditions. Not to mention possible rain puddles along the course. I was sooo not feeling that race. I ended up leaving the client’s office way later than I planned and had to take a taxi. I changed on the way there. While changing, the taxi driver was asking me the most random questions. I don’t know if he was mildly autistic or gay. He asked if I’d had sex 48 hours before the race because that could affect my performance. I mean.. for real?! After a couple more RANDOM questions and comments he asks if I knew tomorrow was the CSD parade in Berlin. CSD is the Christopher Street Day parade in Berlin which is the Gay Pride Parade. I actually didn’t know that but he asked me because?? I finally had to just ignore him when he asked me what I’d wear to the CSD parade. Lord Jesus all of that before I even got to the race.   

Got there and what I thought was a small group of companies turned out to be a massive event with thousands of runners. THOUSANDS!! The client I was running for had t-shirts made that read on the front, “Sometimes we win…” And on the back, “And sometimes the others lose.”  Or something like that. It was in German so who the hell really knows. I personally didn’t understand why they’d want to antagonize the other runners like that. What if people took it personally and it made them run faster?? Pissed off people run faster right? And I had a number. You know ish gets serious when they give you a number. I was the fourth runner on my team so even though I was late I had enough time to relax and mentally prepare for the race. To make matters worse, whenever there is a sporting event white people always assume cause you’re black you are the best at that sport. Random people were joking with me about not making them look too bad, and keeping it interesting until at least the last kilometer. I felt like I was running for the entire black American population! Then I started seeing other black people at the event. To me, every single last other black person looked distinctly Ethiopian or Kenyan. They were warming up like paid professionals! I saw on guy sprinting around the warm up area for 10 minutes and he didn’t even break a sweat! Oh HELL no! I acted like immigration services around there, “Excuse me sir we’re gonna need to see some identification. How long have you resided in the country?? Do you have a valid work contract with this business? Are they holding any of your family members hostage during the running of this event??” Bastards! Cheatin as Mercedes and Edarling! Ya’ll KNOW ya’ll don’t have that many damn Africans who work for your company who are that fast! And I saw you too Bosch! Need to be shame! I almost turned them in to the race officials for that B.S.!

Clock was ticking and getting closer and closer to my turn to run. I warmed up, went through my paces. I have to admit, I started having flashbacks to when I would warm up for my events back in the day. I realized how much I missed it! I started remembering exercises and drills to do. Muscle memory is a beautiful thing! I was killin em! Too bad there is no lung memory cause I was pooped after I did all that mess.  Then the Senior Partner kept asking me what time I thought I would finish in. I’d never run a 5k before so I didn’t know what slow or fast. So I just said I’d do my best. Which is all anyone can really do right??

Finally it was time for me to take my position. It was a relay race so there was an actual baton that needed to be passed. I saw the familiar logo for the company coming towards me and I kept thinking, “Just make it through the first 100 meters. Just make it through the first 100 meters.” I wasn’t trying to psyche myself up or use some psychological trick. The first 100 meters ran past where the company I was running for was situated. I knew I could fake it like a motherfucker for the first 100 meters. And I did. It was a thing of beauty! My form was TIGHT! I looked like a damn gazelle separating from the pack! As soon as I got past where no one could see me from my team I went back to running like the guy who hadn’t trained and hated running. I almost caused a 10 runner pileup with how fast I decelerated.  I ain’t trying to kill myself for NOBODY. Shiiiiiid! Then I started trying to think of excuses I could give for the slow time I was sure to have. I tripped and twisted my ankle, the course wasn’t properly marked and I ran the wrong way, I had to help someone who fell. I literally played all of this out in my brain. Since I was running so damn slow I could easily run through all of the possible scenarios.

Like most things in life there are good and bad things to every personality trait. I’m actually very competitive. So competitive I have to limit who I play/do certain things with so I don’t get too hype. All these people were passing me. It started rubbing me the wrong way.  Then a woman passed me. I might have been able to let that pass cause she did look like she was in hella good shape, but the heffa had the nerve to say something to me as she went by! It was in German so I’m not 100% sure what it was, but I recognized the tone. I recognize indignation. This biatch had the nerve to be indignant with ME?! Not all black people train in the thin mountain air 6 days a week! That mess fired me UP! For me, anyone else could pass me, but not that lil ugly midget. I chased that biotch down and passed her! I even said, “Now what!?” when I passed her. And then my legs said the same thing to me right after. “Yeah, now what negro!? If you don’t keep up this pace she just gonna pass you again! Your ego just killed us. We gonna die if we keep running like this!” I’m so competitive the thought of that woman passing me again was too much to bear. I was determined to not let her pass me again! The dumbest decision in the history of dumb decisions.

I tried every trick I learned from my years of running track to just keep moving, focused on moving my arms, leaned forward a bit more so my momentum would propel me forward, focused on lifting my knees up high. That got me through about 500 meters. As I’m puffing my way through the course trying to stay ahead of my nemesis I see a number on a tree.. “2”. WTF is that meant to be?? That’s a problem with being an over thinker. Most might have ignored it and kept focused. I was utterly confused. “Soooo does that 2 mean I’ve FINISHED my second kilometer or I’m just STARTING my second kilometer?” It had felt like I’d been running for days by that point so if I was just starting my second kilometer I didn’t think I was gonna make it. For a while I’d heard this pounding in my ears. I assumed it was my heart working double time. Then I realized it was drumming. The race organizers had set up different drumming groups at various points along the course. Most of them were African drumming groups but it didn’t matter. I know it sounds crazy but those drums gave me LIFE! I started matching my steps to the beat of the drums. It gave me a little oomph in my step! When I realized there was more than one I pushed it a little harder so I could get within earshot of the next one that much faster. I started passing people! Ok, there were still hella people passing me but I was actually passing healthy men and not only special needs children and the handicapped. I’d found my zone! I was in my little 5K groove putt putting along. Then I saw a water station. I mean, great idea in theory. People are running, exerting themselves, they get thirsty. You provide water for them to quench that thirst. Wonderful! They should provide a pre-race seminar on how to drink water from a plastic cup while you’re running. When you’re out of shape and race tired you can focus on running or focus on drinking, you can NOT do both at the same time. My brain chose to use all functions to keep putting one foot in front of the other. So I damn near drowned myself. I squeezed the cup too hard and water shot down my throat and up my nose at the same time. I snoughed; that’s snorted and coughed at the same time. I had one thought in my brain as this is happening, “Only a dumb MF can drown in the middle of a 5K race.” F%ck me and this damn 5K.

So, 8 hours later, or what felt like it, I heard one of the most beautiful sounds I’ve heard in years, “Last kilometer!” Oh sweet baby Jesus the end is near! The entire course had been mostly just the runners and trees. We were running through a park. But the last kilometer there were more bystanders and co-workers of the runners. I have to admit it was kinda cool to have people cheering you on. Then I turn around one corner and it became something out of a dream sequence. The lane narrowed and on both sides of the running lane it was packed with people waving flags and cheering and yelling. I felt like Superman! Ok, a crippled Superman. I used every last bit of my energy to pick up some speed. I switched into sprinter mode! I was pumping my arms and running on the balls of my feet. I heard the wind whooshing past! I was zooming past people! The theme song from Chariots of Fire starting playing in my head and everything was in slow motion. I’d done it! I’d not only finished but finished strong! Then SCREEEECH! That running lane? There was a turn hidden by all of the spectators. That wasn’t the end of the race! I literally said out loud, “Da F&CK!?” What sadistic bastard would design a course like this?? I still had like 400 meters to go. I was done. FINISHED! I had nothing left to give. I didn’t walk, but that beautiful form I’d had just a minute ago was out the window. My head felt like it weighed 8,382 pounds. It was leaning so far back I could see the moon. My powerful arm motion was reduced to doggy paddling. My legs were so swollen from lactic acid I thought I was going to start a fire how hard they were rubbing together. I looked a hot mess. I finally saw the last runner on my team and lurched and wobbled to him and passed off the baton. I walked to the course exit like a new born baby elephant. Back at the client’s station and these MF’s are asking me about the part of the track they call the “fan mile”. Apparently every rookie makes that mistake on the course. All those people I thought were cheering us on? They were former runners laughing at our ignorance. Sure a few were probably yelling out warnings but who can concentrate that late in the race! That’s some old B.S. that my own team didn’t warn me. Stuff like that makes me not trust Germans.

Prologue

After an hour of stretching and relaxing I’m able to stand again. Everyone is leaving and I see the woman who started this whole thing. She recognizes me and comes up to me. For all I know she passed me at the end when I shot my load too soon and she’s coming to gloat. She says something in German but by this point my brain is barely able to register English. So in English she says, “I told you to keep up at the start and you passed me. I wanted to make sure I had a chance to speak to you after.” Wait, wait, WAAAAAAIT a minute! You mean to tell me she was trying to holla at a brotha?!?! She was trying to flirt and I misinterpreted it??!! Are you f#cking kidding me? All that pain and suffering for nothing?!? See, that’s why I hate running.

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When I started this little endeavor, I had an idea of where I wanted to go, forward. But I had no inkling of what was in store for me along the way. Ninety days was my goal, 90 days is what I’ve completed. As I write this final blog to commemorate my accomplishment, I’m sitting on the subway surrounded by people I don’t know and will likely never see again. I’m not cracking open a celebratory beer or downing a “You did it!” shot. I’m not in my living room furiously scribbling words because there is a half-naked woman purring for me to finish and re-enter the realm of the sexually active. No, it’s just me, my pen, a pad of paper and my feelings. This is how it should be. My best friend wrote me suggesting I should celebrate the occasion, indulge myself. Maybe, then I thought about how women take care of house and home for 364 days out of the year, cleaning house, taking care of the children and cooking meals. A man tries it one day, does a half-assed job then expects a damn medal or key to the city. I kept my dick in my pants for 3 months, big fucking deal. I did what I should’ve done years before. It might have saved me and a few other people a lot of heartache. No, there will be no celebration for this feat. Besides, I said countless times before it wasn’t about the sex. If I deserve any type of praise, it should be for trying to be as honest as possible with myself for 3 months, I’ve confronted negative aspects of my personality, questioned the motives behind my actions, dived into the murky depths of my insecurities and looked my oldest fears directly in the eye…publicly. You know, when I put it like that, guess I do deserve a pat on the back. Actually, a hug would be better. I’m partial to hugs these days as I have so little physical contact.

So, this may seem a bit anti-climatic to some, but as I keep reiterating, this is a journey. No prizes are handed out to the participants of a marathon halfway through the race. They are only offered encouragement to continue on until the end. In fact, I see these 90 days as a sort of warm-up. Now is when things really begin. Can I maintain my current course while not limiting my exposure to the world at large? In many ways this is akin to the recovering addict who has completed a 90 day treatment center. It is easy to talk the talk in the safety of a clinic with a full-time staff to monitor your behavior. It is another to be out in the real world faced with actual temptation beckoning and resist its siren song. My blog in essence was my treatment center and you the readers the staff. Now, it’s only me. I do thank those who have supported me on this journey immensely. Your words inspired me and were literally the strength I needed to take another step on this path in my moments of weakness. To those that eventually grasped this was a personal narrative and stopped attempting to hijack my story, my admiration. I know intimately how difficult it is not to let ego and pride color ones vision of a person you care about. Finally, to those who never got it and tried to constantly steer me off-road… go kick rocks.

Well, that’s all folks, nothing left to see here but a man, an amazing man albeit, but a man nonetheless trying to live a life, an extraordinary life, but a life nevertheless that expresses and gives love freely and impartially and striving to be the best he can be…one day at a time. Day 90, and it truly begins…