and so i run
I finished the Binghamton Bridge Run 5k today with a gun time (from when the starting siren sounded to when I crossed the finish line) of 37:57, a chip time (from when I crossed the start line to when I crossed the finish line) of 37:44. I was 622/783 overall, 339/457 among women, 85/103 among women in the 20-29 age group. A 12:13 pace.
That's a minute and a half better than my best practice 5k, almost 12 minutes faster than my first attempt, five weeks ago. I keep reminding myself, when I feel tempted to compare myself to others, that my narrative is of a girl who's been overweight and out of shape her entire life, who has never had any athletic proclivities or abilities, who weighs 181 pounds and six months ago had never run a mile in her life. Today, I felt prepared and challenged. I ran at a pace I thought was unsustainable for me, and I sustained it. I feel really good about my time. I feel really good about myself. And I have plenty of room to improve.
The beginning of the race was disconcerting for me; sharp and unfamiliar pain shot down my left thigh mere seconds after we began, completely out of nowhere. I kept on, more staggeringly than I otherwise might have, and the pain dulled eventually, though it hasn't gone away completely even now, half a day later. I had expected perfect running weather, the temperature in the mid-50s, but I was unprepared for the severity of the beating sun; I have sunburns even after having slathered on sunscreen, and my mouth felt so dry that the water stations felt like oases. The first one I saw, two miles in and not knowing about these things, I wondered for an absurd moment if some kind of animal had gotten into a chain of garbage bags or what kind of raucous party had littered the street with broken disposable cups. Then I heard the volunteers calling out their offers of water, saw them walking out onto the street to hand the cups to the passing runners, and I understood and felt so relieved and grateful. I grabbed a cup, took one great gulp, felt renewed power in my body, sped up immediately. At the second water station, I blurted out "I love you" to the volunteer who greeted me with a cup.
There was no order to how we started, so the first minutes of the race were filled with the faster runners hitting their strides, passing me in waves after waves after waves, and eventually the people around me stabilized to those who were around my pace. The mile markers came swiftly. I knew I was pushing myself; I knew I was pacing myself. I remember thinking, somewhere in the second mile, how good it was that I'd read books about the Appalachian Trail, blogs of runners, that I'd learned before I stepped into this thing that everyone has to hike their own hike, run their own run. I remember thinking, as I approached the last half mile, that it hadn't occurred to me to save some energy for the parts where people line the streets, ringing bells, shouting encouragements, cheering. I sped up for them anyway. And when I rounded the last bend and turned into the crowd-lined corridor to the finish line, I first admonished myself not to start sprinting too soon, to make sure I wouldn't peter out before the end, and then as the clock came into sight and I realized how close I was to crossing the finish line in under 38 minutes, I sprinted anyway, full out, fast, squeezing between two people just in front of me, coasting to the end just seconds shy of the minute.
The whole experience was exhilarating. I loved the sensation of running through the emptied streets, through the cityscape, in the company of a pack of people doing the same. I loved seeing all the cars being held at intersections so that I could command the concrete in their stead. I loved the satisfaction of pushing through the pain. I felt so bolstered by the spectators, so grateful for their enthusiastic cheers. I can run five kilometers any time I please, but two laps around the reservoir feel muted compared to the addictive thrill of donning a race bib and crossing a finish line. This is an experience that I know I want to have again and again.
I'm eyeing a mid-October 10k in Brooklyn right now, maybe a September 5k before that. Maybe a half marathon next year. Maybe a marathon someday.