Night Run
A cool sweat dampens my skin. I momentarily pant out of breath as I just sprinted to the finish of my parked car. I look to my right and see a moon lit sky reflecting off the water, stars scattered across the horizon, the town is quiet, the scenery is rather mystic. I continued to walk down River Road, euphoric, slighty cramping from the earlier Wendy's burger, but appreciative. Nestled quietly off to the side of the Ohio River, 38 miles north of Pittsburgh, lies River Road, a runner's sanctuary that just so happened to be in my hometown.
My eyes and fingers could only take so much time in front of a lap top during my student teaching semester, and a night run 2-3 times a week became an introspective routine that brought everything together for me.
A year later in Summer 2011, I volunteered to work at a 5k night race, originally developed by my fellow coach, a local favorite, "Howl @ The Moon." I thought it was so cool. My running legs were getting under me for a steady 2 years at that moment and a night race sounded epic. I was itching to race again.
5 years earlier, I damn near walked across the finish line of my last high school race, placing dead last in my heat at our regional championships. I now shake my head in disbelief, but a sense of redemption from that immature moment hasn't been forgotten.
A developed aerobic base goes a long way in a 5k, but that doesn't take away your date with the pain cave. H@TM is a cross country course found on the roads and I'd venture to say elites would co sign it's difficulty. Tiki torches line the back country road that split our township into two, and the steady dose of up and down terrain, sharp corners and lastly a 50 yard sprint onto the football field makes for one wild 3.1.
The races were I monitor my blood sugar at 120-170 pre race leave me feeling the best. It gives some wiggle room for glycogen burning, and I've experienced minimal blood sugar side effects at this level for competition. Above 200, the dry mouth, sour stomach, and dehydration can easily kick in. 45 minutes pre race, and 2.5 hours post a 112 dinner bs, it now regiestered at 113. I consumed a half packet of GU and a few sips of water. I was comfortable, excited and ready to go.
I pushed the pace in hindsight maybe a half mile too early, and as we turned down Gypsy Glen towards the stadium, slightly over 2 miles in, my friend Dave pulled ahead for good. My speed endurance for that course just isn't at his level yet. I am proud of my effort though. Two and three years ago, I couldn't have maintained the first half mile with him. I had two others pass me and I sensed a few others not far behind me. The pain was intense at this point.
Family was in town to join for the night adventure, and thoughts of watching fellow runners stride by last year filled my head the last mile trying to maintain pace. On the last climb along the stadium before rounding down to the back end of the course, I had lost sense of who was behind me. Only thing I could think was to chase down the wild long haired man that displayed elite strength for a 60 year old. I learned he has quite the running history, so I don't feel as bad, in fact, it was pretty damn cool.
I was maxing out with a quarter mile left. I gave him one hell of a surge around the track, and picked up 18 year old speed the last 60 yards, and if given another .02, I'd had him. A volunteer who I've run with a few times was trying to track me down for my bracelet as I attempted to catch my breath. The come down after that effort took awhile. I walked around for 15-20 minutes, allowing my body to settle into homeostasis after that final minute surge. My heart rate began rapidly descending, my breathing returned to normal, and euphoria began to flood my senses.
There is something about night time that brings a creative gene out of us all. The silence of the night, the moon and stars, the stillness from the day. Bits and pieces come together to form new imagery, new adventures, new possibilities.
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