Silver Medal in my age group.  Time:  32 mins 45 seconds.

This was my first ever race, after decades of solo running.  For some reason, I thought it would be “fun”, I can’t even remember exactly why, but I started training in January, my poor flat feet pounding the hard winter pavement every morning until I was exhausted.  By April, my body felt so beat up that I was really just ready for the race to be over, but kept it up for another 3 weeks.

By race day, I was obsessed.  What to eat, run or rest, walk or bike, how much to drink … trying to sleep … exhortations to just run at my own pace, it doesn’t matter how well I do, yadda yadda yadda.  When that starting horn went off, it all flew out of my head as the pack surged in front of me.  People who claimed they could barely run 100 yards were leaving me in the dust.

By nature a competitive person, my impulse was to start sprinting after the pack but for once in my life, common sense ruled.  I stuck with my pace, pushing slightly more than I felt comfortable and maintaining the push up the hills.  By Mile 2, I was passing many of the rabbits, and by Mile 2.75, my mind had shut down.  There was nothing in the world except breathing in and out, the pavement under my left foot, my right foot, left foot.  Then I heard someone say “I can see the finish line …” and something kicked in.

To this moment I don’t know how I did it, but I began to sprint.  To an outside observer it wouldn’t have looked like a sprint, but the thrill of crossing that line was one of the most intense things I ever experienced.  Like I said, I’m competitive.

Within 2 hours, I was already plotting when I would run my next race.  4-miler?  10K?  Wait for fall, so I don’t have to train through the summer?

For now, I’m savoring the relief, sad over having it behind me, a check-mark next to that item on my bucket list, and … I’m forever changed.