SOME months back, a friend invites me to join a 5K run. I’ve never raced before and the only real running I’ve ever done is on the treadmill. But I tell myself, “Why not? If not now, when?” So I say yes.
While sitting on a plane, a message pops up on my screen. Early bird registration for the race has started. I send a sad face emoji. My plane is about to take off for my Adriatic adventure. I’ll do it when I get back, I promise.
Upon my return, I realize I only have five weeks left to train—for a race I’ve never attempted to do in my life. So I get on the treadmill and quickly realize I’m way in over my head. But there is no turning back.
Research is something I do well. I read up on everything I can about running for the first time and get advice from all the trainers I know. And then of course, I get on the treadmill and do what I can.
I huff and puff for five weeks and as the race date draws nearer, I realize I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like dying and my time is not getting better. But I am not about to give up.
One week before the race, my millennial trainer asks me to track my runs on my watch (which I’ve never done previously due to my baby boomer brain). He tells me not to rely on the treadmill numbers as they are iffy.
What??? The treadmill I’ve been using for the last two years? So I proceed to track my run on my watch (for the first time) and viola, turns out, I’ve been trying to run a 10K which is why I feel like dying.
It’s a long story how the numbers got messed up. Suffice it to say that it was either due to my slow brain or the slow machine. Or both. I’d like to put all the blame on the machine.
So one week before the race, I realize I’m probably going to finish this race. Alive. After all. Still, I think about doing a test run on the race route at dawn but it doesn’t seem safe. Should I bring security? That seems so extra. I kill the idea immediately.
Train. Rest. Get a good night’s sleep. Hydrate. Do all these before race day. Nothing new on race day—not the outfit, not the breakfast, not the strategy. Pace yourself. Do the talk test. Run the second half of the race faster than the first.
I did it all. Or at least, I tried. Still, I got the jitters. Didn’t sleep a wink the night before. Raced a few times to the portable potties before gun start. Stuffed my side pockets like I was going away for the weekend instead of going on a run.
Worst of all, I pressed the wrong thing on my watch and missed all my pace alerts. I ran 10 minutes slower than my personal training best. But I finished the race—without collapsing. It wasn’t a podium finish—but in my mind, it was.
Will add this feat to the list of firsts in my golden years. It’s true what they say, you’re never too old and it’s never too late. #goldengirlsstories