I ran in the Newton 10K race on Sunday morning, June 7. Although it had been a cool, chilly spring up to then, that morning was very hot for a race -- at least 70 degrees in the shade, and much hotter in the direct sun. I am not a good hot weather runner.It was the first 10K (6.2 miles) I had run since 2001, when I ran in the James Joyce Ramble in Dedham. In that race, I finished in 49:37, finally finishing a 10K in less than 50 minutes, after several years of trying. That was nine years ago, and I was now 54 years old when I lined up in the crowd of other racers at the Horace Mann School in Newton. Most of them were much younger runners.
We were a couple hundred people, probably none of us professional athletes. Most of us would not receive a prize. Certainly I knew I would not. Yet, we were willing to strain to our limits for 6.2 miles.
I suffered in this race. The first few miles were steadily uphill. I was gasping hard. My time at mile 2 was over 17 minutes. With the sweat blurring my eyes, I knew I was not going to make it under 50 minutes that morning.
A race is a kind of theater, a ceremony. It offers a stage on which a small lifetime is completed. Along the way, you experience running in tight spaces, nearly tripping, running too fast, too slow, pacing yourself according to somebody else's pace, privation, exhaustion, not enough water, pain, early disappointment, irritating runners. In the end, there's the finish line, and small bits of joy at seeing your wife there. With a bottle of water.
I suffered through this race. My time was a disappointing 54:25. I was 9th out of 18 other geezers in my 50-59 age range. I felt sick (nausea and stomach aches) for most of the day, and sat in my comfortable chair with my head laid back.
These races are strange cultural events. A little lifetime for each runner. I am thinking of running another one in the late fall, when the temperature won't be so high. I want to do it under 50 minutes again, the way I did eight years ago.
