Running Downhill: Season of the 5K Itch – Part 1

You’ve got to pick up every stitch
The rabbits running in the ditch
Beatniks are out to make it rich
Oh no, must be the season of the 5K Itch*

I think the spirit of self-loathing, at least to a certain extent, informs the training of endurance athletes. A more positive nomenclature for this inner driving force would be something like “ambition” or “discipline” or “dedication.” And sure, once you have developed the habit of getting out the door to get in your daily training, the motivations for doing so are mostly positive. The self-loathing part of my brain will say, “You lazy, useless slug! Put your shoes on and go! It’s 3 p.m. already!” And then I’m up, finally, and out the door. The half-century-old limbs and joints, stiff as kindling to start, get looser. And then the time to start the hammer portion of the workout arrives. That’s when the years of routine help. You hardly think about how gross it will feel to push up to and then past your red line for the next 30 or so minutes. Then you’re done and maybe one step closer to attaining that artificial milestone you’ve set out ahead of yourself. The garage is still a mess, sure, but you just did an interval workout! High fives!

For the first half of this year, my goal race was the Blue Shore Financial Longest Day 5K. For a long time, this was my one and only 5K of the year. When I was about 34 and just getting into running, I ran a 15:50 in a 5K. I got thoroughly smoked by the likes of Peter Cardle — sub 14:00 dude — and Norm Tinkham — five-time Team Canada member at the world cross-country championships. Nonetheless, I was convinced that I could go a lot faster if I really focused on that distance, which I never did. I became obsessed with trying to break 2:30 in the marathon, which I also never did. But each June I’d lace up the flats for the Longest Day 5K to see if, and how far, I could squeeze under 16 minutes. The last time I ran in 2007 I squeaked out a 15:57. It had taken about twice as much training to get that result at 43 compared to my 15:50 when I was 34. I hadn’t lost the battle with Father Time just yet, but I was clearly running out of ammo.

And then I stopped running 5K’s. More to the point, I stopped training and racing consistently at any distance. We were busy doing family things. My wife’s job had her travelling all over the place and I and our two daughters would join her on the trips to the more interesting locales. Fun, but not conducive to a monastic level of devotion to training. And then there were a couple of cataract surgeries in there, followed in due course by a couple of vitrectomy surgeries. The goal stops being a certain subjectively demanding race time and starts being “let’s-not-go-blind.”

2013 rolled over into 2014 and I sat down to study the local race calendar and there, way out in the middle of June, was that Longest Day 5K. It was slated to be the the BC 5K road race championship for 2014 and it was also part of a couple of races series. Plus, looking out at the months ahead from the vantage point of the New Year, it was far enough away that I could comfortably entertain ludicrous notions of rolling the clock back a decade and maybe posting a time within shouting distance of those 15:50’s from my early 40s. Having not raced a single 5K since 2007, I promptly signed up for five of them, with the fifth being the Longest Day 5K.

After weeks of grinding, I had a race to test myself in; an Mountain Equipment Co-op 5K in Stanley Park. It wasn’t part of any local race series and didn’t look to be all that competitive, but it was 10 bucks and on a measured course, so I was in.

So race day dawns and I drive down to Stanley Park, arriving about 40 minutes before the scheduled start. The day is raw and sleety; perfect for sleeping. I felt like warm crap from a late, wine-soaked night with friends. Yeah, that sounds stupid, but this race was only a rust buster effort and you gotta live your life. Or at least that was what I was telling myself while slurping a cunning red the night before.

It occurs to me that this race is pointless. On my best day I’d be about a mile behind Mo Farah, if he were to show up. In fact, I begin to wonder, why run ever, at all? It’s just hard and stupid. I’m 50; I should be gardening.

So I drag myself out of the car and start into a lugubrious and rhinocerosian warm-up shamble. It isn’t really running, but it might evolve into running, given enough time. You can tell its a very low key race because no one actually wants to toe the starting line. Everyone is hanging back about 10 feet, so I go stand out in front, alone at the line. It may look arrogant, but I’m really just trying to set a friendly example. “Look, people, I’m as old as hell but here I am at the start line. If I can be here so can you, Young Turk In the Basketball Shorts, and you as well, Duo Of Japanese Exchange Students.”

The count down ensues and we are off and running. A few young guys surge out in front and I’m right there behind them. This is what I want, some fit dudes to haul my arse around the course. We get up onto the Seawall and after about a quarter-mile I realize that the pace is a bit flaccid. I push up to the bleeding edge of the race, and then, much to my disappointment, I am out front.

We approach the 1K marker and Team Japanese Exchange Student is right with me, but breathing hard. My hope that I had seasoned Eikedeners to lead me along dissolves. There are about four-hundred thousand Japanese people who can hand it to me in a 5K, I suspect, but these two aren’t among them.

The wine haze is dissipating. With about a K and a half to go, I do a shoulder check and see a big, fit dude who looks like he could lift far more than the 80 pounds I could. He’s maybe 50 metres back. I don’t really care if I win, but it does seem pathetic to lead for 4K before losing to a guy in cross trainers. I press on, desperately. If nothing else, this is a decent workout for a Saturday morning. The finish line arrives and I have managed to stay ahead of Crossfit Dude. More importantly, I’ve set a bench mark time for my Season Of The 5K Itch: 17:33. Now the benefit of showing up to race with a hangover and six hours of sleep makes itself apparent. Because in my next 5K, a couple weeks from now, I’ll be able to crush that time. Or so I tell myself.

*Apologies to Donovan. And yes, I’m that old.