I am so vain



I am so vain

I am so vain. I think that this story is about me. And it is. It is the story of how I came to receive mail addressed to Robinson, well actually, Robbie Crusoe. And where is my man Friday?

Long ago, I began running and I encouraged our kids to run and I had enough energy to run without them and later with them. And they joined in around-the-block runs, as parts of walks, on their own and at the end of races – well I was a midpacker, so near the end of a race. But time passed, they grew and their interests changed, or at least often their activities did not include me. So I was surprised later that Maria and I began to develop a running relationship. It was a great thing to run together. Like in all running relationships, you get some one-on-one time, some conversation time, and for the length of the run, you share a common goal and interest. No fights, no arguing, just a run.

Most of our runs were neighborhood outings. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I was invited along or not until she made a move to the door. I would be standing there in my running clothes but could just as easily end up running alone. I tried to act as if this were not the case, so that either outcome would not be a disappointment or a cause of stress. My overwhelming preference was to run with her or I would have already headed out the door. And as we ran more together, the rest of life fit together better and so we would run more together. Of course, geography eventually interfered with frequency and our runs would be farther apart. But I valued the runs immensely.

Maria is competitive and likes to push herself. She had not entered many races, but the thought of

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running hard interested her. I don’t enter many races either and most of my runs are at the same pace in the same place; not exactly great training for a PR. Maria and I had different abilities but easily found a common pace for running. Given the choice of running in a race or running with Maria, I would choose the latter every time. (Good thing that I put them in this order!)

So it came as a bit of a surprise that Maria suggested that we run the local Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning. It seems that many running shops sponsor a race for those of us planning to gorge on a heavy afternoon meal because the turnout is so good. We all want to get in a workout so that we will feel less guilty. Since many people are visiting friends or family, people at the race are locals as well as from other cities and states. There may be really good runners or just a lot of people on an outing. In any case, if that was what Maria wanted to do, I was up for it. I didn’t expect my time to be great, but I was running enough that it would be respectable.

We got up early Thursday morning, dressed and slipped out the door. There was already a crowd at the store, but registration was painless enough. We took our tacky T-shirt (another required part of a Turkey Trot?) and brochures back to the car. We relaced our shoes with the timing chip attached with a strong plastic strap. I applied some Glide Stick. We were ready and headed off to walk around the small parking lot and hear other people’s conversations. I bumped into a woman I had met recently who was training for the New York Marathon and who, I had seen online, had run a fast 10K recently. I introduced her to Maria and we talked about the race and the turnout. This race measured 8K. Suddenly, I had a

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goal and that was to finish ahead of her. This was not aimed at her, but was representative of my respect for her ability and the accomplishment that it would represent. I am not sure Maria had the same challenge.

It’s about 3 minutes until start time and we have all gathered on the side street where the race will begin. I am doing some stretches and getting ready for a fast but controlled start when Maria asks me what pace we should run. “What?” I ask. She wants to know if we should start slow and then pick up the pace with a negative split, try to maintain a steady pace, or just go for it. But all I can hear is the “we.” “We?” Without missing a beat, I asked if we were running the “race” together. “Yeah, don’t you want to?” Well, of course I wanted to run with her. My original plan had been to run with her on Thanksgiving morning, though on a trail and not in a public place where they would record my time, put it on a wall for all to read, and then put it on the internet for anyone with a computer anywhere in the world to find.

From the beginning, I have recognized the possibility of stalking people on the internet, particularly as it relates to running. Type in their name and oftentimes up come the results. There is nothing there but the distance and the time. There are no asterisks* that describe the rolling course, or that you dehydrated, or that you ran with another person at their pace. And what that “we” meant was that my current 3 or 4 results online would be joined by today’s result: one that was certain to be good for some but much worse than what I wanted out there in the information world for me. I wanted people to think that I was a serious runner, so my desired internet time should be

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about 4 minutes faster than my best possible time.

Meanwhile, I estimated that “our” time would be about 5 minutes slower than my normal time, resulting in an almost one-minute-per-mile pace difference for all the world to see, for all time. Since Maria was looking at a real time rather than a fictitious time, had athletic pursuits other than running than dominated her efforts, and since she in fact would be running at her pace, none of this affected her. She also assumed that I had understood that we were running the race together and thought that I could help her keep a strong pace. I knew all of this immediately just as I knew that I valued running with her more than running alone in the race.

I answered that we should start a little slow, keep a steady pace and try to finish strong if we could. I immediately followed this by saying “I’ll be right back” as I got out of the start area. I wanted to remove my chip. But I couldn’t break the strap and if I did break it, what would I do with it? It might still register if I put it in a pocket or held it in my hand. I couldn’t throw it away since it had a $25 lost fee. So I sprinted against traffic through the final stragglers to the start back to the registration area. I found some scissors and snipped the strap. I then handed it to a volunteer and told them that I had decided not to wear it and that I wanted to turn it in. It seems that they for some unknown reason lacked a system for the return of chips prior to the race, Finally, they write down my number – I kept that – and accept the chip. I run back to the crowd through the spectators at full speed as they are giving the 15-second warning. Standing beside Maria, she looks at me and asks, “where’d you go?” There was no right answer to this question and I knew that the truth would come

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out quickly after the race, so I fessed up. “I took off my chip.” Wow. If looks could kill... she understood the implication immediately. Fortunately she found it funny rather than insulting. But the horn drowned out her laughs and we were underway.

Fast starts are the norm for most races and even more so for shorter distances. Each of us has our own flow of adrenaline going, and collectively, we help each other generate even more. Most of us don’t really have a good feel for our pace and only know our speed after we see the clock. We look around and others seem to be running normally and are not sprinting. They look like lesser athletes than we feel and so we should be faster than them and therefore, the fact that we are not zooming past them and others, provides incontrovertible evidence that we are proceeding at a cautionary pace. In fact, we are running beside someone who in the prerace chatter had bluntly stated that his pace would be less than what we know we can run. We should be congratulated for our discipline and self-control. And so it is, race after race, until we reach the clock or timer at the first mile and learn our real time and realize the debt that we have incurred and will need to repay later in the last mile.

Given all this, I am certain that Maria did not need the incremental mental motivation that my slight provided. But there it was anyway. But she reacted like a pro and ran a measured, controlled and steady pace as others dodged around us or sped even further ahead. Among those was the woman I had seen at the start. Oh well, she would beat me today. And then, as so often happens, we are passing the Mile 1 marker even though we just started. This was a small race, but there was a trifold sign and a skilled volunteer calling out

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the times. Neither of us wore a watch so this was our first idea of time: 7:54, 7:55. We crossed in sub-eight. That seemed a little fast for Maria, but I didn’t have a good gauge on her current ability, even though I knew that she had not been running so much lately. Still, on this course and on this crisp autumn day, she looked strong and under control. It was enjoyable. Normally, in a short distance race, I don’t carry on too much conversation. But today, we talked about running and alternately praised or mocked other runners on the course. Generally, I failed to appreciate the turkey, Pilgrim or other theme outfits while Maria thought that they were funny.

Mile 2 took us from a small road to residential neighborhood streets and rolling hills. It is a nonscientific fact that it takes more energy to run up a hill than you gain on the downhill. Furthermore, at mile 2, it is illogically imperative to maintain your pace on the uphills while trying to take advantage of the gravitational pull when heading down. As a summary for those not gifted in Physics, this means that they really tire you out. And so it was that we kept the faith and the pace on Mile 2.

8K is almost exactly 5 miles and so mentally we are running 5 miles and our course markings are all at the mile markers. Mile 3 continued to roll past houses where families had begun to wake up and cousins play together for the first time in a year. The course was not technically an out and back, but it was pretty close and so we looped around a small orange cone indicating the approximate half-way mark and ran back up and down those same rolling hills. It is discouraging to struggle on part of the course and then have to run it again. This simple truth was evidenced

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in the grimaces on the faces of those we saw both before and after the turnaround. Maria seemed okay and even more than held up her side of the conversation. I was in shape and cocky. This was just an easy run for me.

As mile 4 started we passed the NY Marathon woman and I wondered if she had started out too fast and now was suffering. I later learned that this was in fact the reason, though it applied to a (male) friend that she was running with and not her; and she had not ditched her chip. Her finish time was 28 seconds slower than ours. I know this because I googled it!

Maria’s pace was a bit slower, but she fought through the burn in her legs. Her new issue now was the need for a bathroom break. Like most small local races, there are no bathrooms on the course and so the only real options are to go in someone’s yard with lots of people watching, stop and walk, or suffer through the finish. (Wetting your pants is only an option in the Ironman IMHO). So Maria did what she does and put her head down and headed to the finish as fast as she could. But late in a race and with pressure on your bladder, it is hard to shake the acid from your hill- weary legs and run faster. Then 2 blocks from the finish line, she spies a Port-o-John at a house under construction. Being female, she normally could hold it forever and would never enter one of these. However, today she makes a beeline for it. I stand there and watch some runners pass by. I am thinking that I am glad that I no longer have a chip and that this lost time will have no asterisk to explain it later on the results on the World Wide Web. The plastic door is open and Maria is back and sprinting. She doesn’t slow down

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until she crosses the finish line, reeling in about 10-15 of those that just passed her.

We stayed around to check out the results. We were solidly in the middle of the pack and it had been a fun and challenging run for all. There was a bit more collegiality than normal and the crowd dispersed slowly. Maria finished 6 of 18 in her age group. Not bad for a part-time runner that took a bathroom break. I complimented her on her time and finish and did a check just to make sure that my name had not been recorded. Safe. Then of course, I looked at my age group to see how I would have finished. If I had run a really fast race, I would have been seventh: no prize, no recognition, and no comments from anyone else. I enjoyed the run with Maria and would make the same choice instantly again. She still gives me a hard time about removing my chip and others that I tell about this just sort of stare at me and don’t get my reasoning. The only explanation is that like Carly Simon sings: I am so vain.

Oh, Robbie Crusoe? First I need to tell you a bit about Quenton Cassidy.

* No explanation provided