I can tell you how I know I am getting older. J and I ran a 5K tonight. My time was a little over 29 minutes. This is my new normal and that’s tough for me.
In 2000 when I was 22, I ran my first 5K. I was ill-prepared; I liked to run, but never ran more than 2 miles. I only ran the Race for the Cure because my roommate Mouse’s mother was just diagnosed with breast cancer and I wanted to do something to support my friend. I ran it in 28:55. I think I walked a good portion of the race and thought I wasn’t going to make it. But I did and I was hooked on racing.
I can’t tell you how many races I’ve done since that first one, but it’s a lot. I love racing. And at my prime, I was running my 5Ks in 24 minutes. I hung around that time for about a year. Then I moved up into the 25-26 range. And then 27-28 minutes. I’m very frustrated to watch my time creep up, but I guess I should be thankful that I can still run at all!!
The thing that peeves me the most, though, is J’s run time. J is not a “runner.” I actually think he hates running. He only took up the sport in the last 4 years and he likes the races. He thinks the training aspect of it is hogwash. Sometimes, he prepares for the races, sometimes he doesn’t.
Tonight’s race is a case of the unprepared. I ran all week in preparation. I played soccer twice. J, on the other hand, recovered from a cold and the worst hangover ever. Then, today, he slammed into the dishwasher door at work and it looks like the bone is protruding from his leg. To me, that seems like a recipe for disaster. But J crossed the finish line the same time as me (hand in hand of course). And I know this is slow for him. He’s more in the 27-28 minute range. Grrrr …
Well, at least there was Boloco at the end of this race.