5k

My support group friends told me I should view the Partial Response as a victory worth celebrating. So last night, Isabel went to dinner and a play (the very funny Sylvia at the Long Wharf), and this morning, I ran a 5k road race, the WPLR ShamRock & Roll in New Haven. I've run it twice before, and this time, I finished better than either of the other times, in 29:01, about a minute and a half faster than my previous best for this race.

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The ShamRock & Roll is a nice race, but the first half is pretty much uphill. I've been working on hill runs to strengthen my legs, so I felt good about getting a personal best. But when I got there, the details about the race started to pile up, and didn't feel quite as confident. First, they announced that this year's race had almost 2000 participants, 600 more than last year; that meant lots of people new to this race or new to racing, period. Plus, there was a new route because of construction. Both of those could be bad things.

My fears were realized. The new route took us off of the wide street we started on in the past. The narrower street meant we were all funneled together for the first half mile, so there was no room to pass anyone. I know from experience that if I try to speed up to pass people whenever I see a hole in tyhe crowd, I use up too much energy early on and finish poorly.

Then when we hit the big hill after a half mile, all those racing newbies just started walking. Seemed like most of the walkers stopped ubruptly, right in front of me. I resigned myself to just enjoying the race and not worrying about my time.

The race course was a little different at the top of the big hill, too; we usually turn right and then go up a short but very steep hill before looping back around and going downhill, so I had conserved energy for that. But this year, we turned left and began going downhill right away. Little did I know, the new course had us turn one more time and head back uphill again, something I wasn't prepared for.

They did that too me again near the end, with about a half mile to go, sending me back up one more uphill when I was expecting all flat ground. I started picking up speed a little too early, and I started dying a little near the end. I tried to remind myself that I wasn't worrying about time.

But then I turned the corner for the final stretch, and saw the finish clock was at 29:12. My best on this course had been 30:30. I knew was going to beat that easily, but I really wanted to break 30 minutes. I gave whatever I had left and finished with the clock at 29:44. Because it's such a big field, it took me 43 seconds to actually get to the starting line from where I was lined up, so my net time (from starting line to finish line) was actually 29:01.

I came in 974th out of 1844, just out of the top half. Pretty good for a guy with cancer.

Official results are here.

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Near the finish, about 100 yards before I turned and saw the clock, a young woman just up ahead of me stopped running and started walking. She's got to be a newbie, I thought. Either she didn't know how to pace herself, or she didn't know the course well enough to know how close she was to the finish. As exhausted as I was, there was no way I was going to stop with about a tenth of a mile to go.

Which is, of course, the Big Metaphor for all of this cancer stuff. Today was my first race since I started treatment, and being treated makes for a whole different mindset. My best race ever came three weeks after I was diagnosed. I won't say I was getting complacent, but running hadn't really been burning that fire in my belly for a while. The fire is back, I'd say. I feel like I've got something to prove to myself again.

I've felt fine through all of this, but I know the treatments to come will be tougher, and I might get discouraged along the way. But I know I be like that woman so close to the finish. I can't just stop.