My First Official Death Race...aka the 5K

Well, I finished my very first official USATF (United States of America Track and Field) 5K and lived to tell about it.

I didn't have a time in mind to finish, I just wanted to say I did it and I didn't want to be dead last. Surprisingly, I accomplished both, so I'm pretty full of myself happy with the results. So happy, in fact, that I am doing it again this week. Not the same race of course, I have to wait until next year for that, but a night one held on the university campus.

My day started early, and by early I mean that I was awake before the rest of the entire world. Even my dogs looked at me like I was insane as they burrowed themselves back under my blankets. At 0430 everything looks bleak and the race didn't even start until 9! I contemplated just not going or going but just walking or not going and running later that night. Alas, I remembered that I was taking my six year old with me (we'll call her Bad Ass Baby Girl, BABG) and she would've been very disappointed not to see her buddy who was going to be there. So I got out of bed and took a shower. Yes, I know taking a shower before a run sounds a bit on the retarded side but hear me out, I only did it to wake myself up for the two hour drive to the race.

 BABG and I arrived just before 0730 when race registration started. A friend of mine had warned me about the pre-race potty emergencies that can happen so I headed straight to the restroom before I did anything else. Once we were registered we had a while before the race started so we made friends with a few volunteers for a while and then headed down to the starting line to stretch out and check out the competition.
 

I was feeling fine. As you may know I despise morning runs just about as much as I despise frogs, which we'll talk about that in a later post. (If you don't know about my morning run hatred you can read about it here.) But, I was feeling good. I was pumped, warmed, stretched, and good to go. The route didn't look too bad on the map, it was a full circle instead of an out and back. I was smiling and happy, right up until some old man jogged up next to me and asked if I had seen...The Hill.

"Hill? What hill?" I asked.

"The one that's behind us," he replied with a crooked smile.

I looked over my shoulder and it didn't look that bad. I shrugged and said, "No worries, this fat bottom girl has skills. I can do it."

He left me there in the wake of his laughter as he walked away. My confident smile turned to a cringe when I realized that he was laughing at me, instead of with me.

The race whistle started and we were off. BABG took off like a bullet and raced ahead of me. I just knew I wouldn't see her again until the finish line. The race started off with a gentle incline for about a tenth of a mile, no biggie, easy day. I was yet to learn how wrong I was. There was a long downhill after that where I picked up my pace and passed the walkers. It never occurred to me that I would have to gain that elevation drop back somehow. Then there was a nice and easy flat spot all the way to the end of mile one.

At the beginning of mile 2 there is a hill, not too bad, but a little steeper than I was used to. When I got to the top I figured that was it. That is until I looked up and saw it. There, just around the corner, was the biggest, steepest, hill I'd ever seen. It was a monster, it was eating up runners and speed walkers alike. The experienced runners were just getting to the top as I rounded the corner and they were...walking? Dear God the runners were walking the hill!!

I knew I was in for it. "Why did no one tell me?" I cried in confusion. I put my head down and focused on the concrete below my feet. I pushed and pushed and pushed until I couldn't take it anymore. My heart and brain hadn't given up just yet, but my legs were jello. Suddenly, I heard a small voice behind me calling my name and I realized it was BABG, she was walking it and barely faster than a crawl. I took her hand and we pushed up the rest of it together, at a walk. This beast of a hill is nearly a mile long and it feeds on the blood and sweat of inexperienced runners like myself.

Once we reached the top, the volunteers gave us water and made sure we were okay. Luckily, the rest of the way was downhill and just a little tiny hill at the end to get back to the finish line. BABG took off ahead of me again once I mentioned there was ice cream at the end. She finished at 57 minutes flat while I dragged ass behind her at 58:15.

I fucking finished it, goal one complete. Out of 158 competitive runners, I was 153, I wasn't dead last, goal two complete. My reward? Olive Garden with my buddy!!

What now, you ask? Now, I get to work on my time and figure out a way to demolish that hill next year.

Potty Emergency

We're friends, right?

Like I can pretty much tell you anything and you can handle it?

I know what you're thinking right now, "What the fuck is she talking about?" Well, I think it's time to address the proverbial elephant in the room and talk about potty emergencies.

I'm not talking about the 'I really have to pee' moments that can happen anywhere like in the car, or on a run, or even at work. I'm talking about the times when your stomach cramps so bad that you just might wreck your car. Tears come to your eyes as you double over in pain and you pray for death to come quickly. The times where you start sweating profusely and seriously contemplate shitting your pants just to get rid of the pain! Yeah, those times.





Maybe you have experienced this yourself at some point in time. Maybe you have been able to make it to the bathroom just in time (oh, sweet baby Jesus thank you!) but have you experienced this in the middle of a run about two miles from your end point?

 

What do you do? Do you simply veer off course into the woods and use a sock to clean yourself up? Do you pooper scooper that shit (literally) and take it with you? If you do decide to just go, do you take a picture of it to savor the moment when you are done and send it to your friend? (I bet you do!)

Personally, I have always been able to complete my run straight into a bathroom. I have an irrational fear of spiders injecting venom into my massive ass cheek that prevents me from taking a dump in the woods so thankfully I have not had to poop so bad that I couldn't wait. It is bound to happen though, one day. I have read though that some marathon runners simply shit their shorts and keep on keepin' on. *Insert dry heaves here*

(Side note: In boot camp, if you vomited the Drill Instructors would make you pick it up and put it in your pocket to carry that around with you all day long. It was revolting! I never puked in boot camp. I'd hate to see what they would do if you took a shit on a run.)

Perhaps I should just start running with this?

Comments? Suggestions on how to avoid a potty emergency? Have an epic poop story that just must be shared? Let me know!