Testing The Limits

The temperature read 23 degrees.

This is gonna be cold.

With the sun starting to crest the mountains, the golden winter rays gave sparkle to the frost which covered the ground.  Nature's diamonds glistened from the trees, the frozen grasses and roads.

And slippery.

The park was beginning to awake and wipe the sleep from its eyes.  Race directors and volunteers were filtering in bringing life to the quietness of the early morning. Evidence of people were seen in the footprints left in the frosty ground. 

Leaving the warmth of our cars, my running friends and I began an easy paced 4 mile run.  Weaving our way through the oldest part of town and down to the ocean front, I notice the only others awake and out in this cold were those from the oldest of generations.

They are tough, I can learn alot from them.

We talk amongst ourselves discussing our strategies, or lack of, for the race we will soon run.  Who wants to run what pace and the times we each hope to run the 6.2 miles in.  At the two mile mark we turn around and head back to the park.

Upon entering the park we are greeted by several people milling about waiting for the start of the race.  We make our way into the warm, heated building and sign our names on the roster.  A simple pen stroke and my name is forever attached to the 2010 Fairhaven Frosty 10k.

We take our place at the starting line.  With two divisions in this race, a 5k and a 10k, there are all different types of registrants.  Parents with children, dogs with owners, cross country students, walkers and racers.  I look around and spot two women dressed as toy soilders toeing the line.

I will not be beat by a toy soilder.

The announcer tells the 5k entrants to take their place at the first starting line and the 10k runners to line up behind the 10k line about 200 meters back from the 5k start.  Someone yells "GO!" and we are off and running.  That is until we hit the back of the 5k pack.  Here we must dodge walkers, strollers and dogs who can't get along and owners trying their best to control them.  My running buddies and I look at each other with a look understood by all.

Great.

We make our way out of the park and shortly begin the ascent up the first hill.  Not the most favorable way to start a race but knowing after the first mile there would be a long section of a gradual downhill kept me focused.

Just get through this hill.  Pump my arms, shorten my stride.

The crest of the hill gave way to a small downhill taking us to the bottom of switchbacks etched into the side of a hill.  Upon climbing them we reached the Interurban Trail and a well deserved downhill section.  I look at my watch. 

Darn it. 

The trail is now a gradual downhill and I can make up time lost on the uphill climbs. I find a runner ahead and focus on catching them.  This works for awhile.  I find a runner, catch up to them and work hard to pass them.  Then I spot her. 

She was maybe 10 and she was ahead of me.  I am now right behind her and I hear a few volunteers yell, "Go Emmy!"  This girl impresses me.  As I pass her I tell her she's doing great and to keep it up.  I look at my watch and figure she is running close to a 7:30 mile pace. 

Impressive.

Leaving the trail, we make our way onto the city street which will take us back to the park.  As we approach, the 5k runners turn toward their finish line and we continue straight to repeat the loop.  And the hills.  Again.

With only 10k runners now on the course the field thins out tremendously.  The cold winter sun shines brightly into our eyes as we climb up the hill.

Pump my arms.  Shorten my stride.

The short downhill serves only as a reminder the switchbacks are looming.  Too quickly they come into view and I find myself working my way up them.

Final uphill, I can do it.  I can do it.

The trail is a welcome sight.  My watch chirps and I glance at it.  4 miles done, only 2.2 to go.  Here I question the sanity of running 4 miles before the race.  I remind myself of the goal to run Boston one day.

This is a stepping stone.  A building block to Boston.

The trail feels good under foot.  The frozen, frosty leaves crunch with each step I take.  A pleasant sound of winter running.  My gaze goes upward to the trees on either side of the trail. Trees reach across the sky in a perfect canopy carving out a ceiling for the trail that winds its way through the forest. 

Although sad to leave the trail as we turn onto the city street again, I am happy with the chalk written message scrawled on the sidewalk, it reads "1 mile to go". I am tired. This is starting to hurt.

I want this over.

Up ahead I focus on a few runners and wonder if I have enough energy left to catch them.  They stay in my sights.  Cars drive by.  Some honk, some wave, most pay no attention.  I wonder the last time they pushed themselves this hard.

I round the final corner and make my way to the park.  Something catches my eye up ahead. 

Oh no.  Could it be? 

Yes, it was.  Toy soilder ladies.  As participants in the 5k race, they were on their way to the finish line.  Even though I had done twice the distance they had, I did not want them crossing the finish line before me.

Run harder.  Run faster.  I don't feel good.

The distance between us shortened.  I just had to lap these toy soilders.

Run harder.  Run faster.

With the park entrance in sight, I passed the toy soilders and told them they were doing great.  Turning into the park I sped up to the finisher shoot and crossed the finish line.  I was done.  And extremely happy about it.  My watch told me I'd finished in 49:57.

Filling up on oranges, bananas and race food goodies, my running friends and I talk about the race we'd each just run.  We ran the exact same course, the exact same distance yet each experienced much different races.  Goals were met, some were not, but all was left out on the course.  We emerged stronger than when we started and glowing with that which comes from hard work, pushing ourselves and a testing of limits. 

And a readiness to do it all again.