Before the start:

Here are the unofficial Manry finish times:

Josiah: 21:00

Zeke: 33:09 and Dale: 33:10

Mugs: 37:42

I’ll update the times once the official results are posted.

They know Josiah well.

Josiah and Abby attend a small Christian high school with a very active sports department. With the competition for students from the football and soccer teams, the boys cross country team has managed to eek out just enough runners to qualify to compete as a team in the meets. I gladly cheer as each runner’s time improves as the season progresses, but never did I expect the team to be able to compete as a whole. Until this year.

After the first practice, the coach was excited talking about a freshman runner named James, “He had great mile splits. I think he can do really well. He was running so hard, he threw up at the end.” These are the things that coach admires. This philosophy was followed by Dale’s roommate, Sean, at West Point. “If you don’t feel like you are going to hurl, you are not running fast enough” was his motto.

The very first meet of the season is a local race in Fredericksburg. Public and private schools of all sizes attend this meet. Josiah does not like the course and usually has a terrible time. The first year he ran it, I thought he got hurt in the woods. Now I’ve learned to sit back and wait. Everyone has slow times at Loriella Park. Everyone, that is, except James.

Our FCS team runs the JV race with most other small private schools and the 8th runner and below of the big public school teams. The boys varsity winner ran 16:28 (5K). FCS runners cannot approach those kind of times, so the coach keeps the team all together in the JV race.

I cheer the start of the race and then carry my lawn chair to the finish and wait. I normally clap for all the top runners as they finish while I wait for our team’s arrivals. This year, I could see the top runner in the distance. He was a small runner in a black uniform. I looked and looked again. “That can’t be James,” I thought. “That can’t be James.” When he was clearly in sight, I started shouting, “That’s James! That’s James! Go FCS! Go FCS! I can’t believe it! Go FCS! Run, James Run!” He finished in first place in his first race with a time of 19:20.

We FCS parents were ecstatic. James’ parents were the most shocked. They had no idea he could run that fast.

All the teams runners ran faster than they ever had on that course and the team placed eighth. It was a happy happy day.

However, there is one difficulty when you win your very first race: Everyone expects you to win every race afterwards. The pressure of #1 can be a bit much for a freshman. Second place, instead of a huge achievement, becomes disappointing to you. The coach lectures you on race tactics and throws you into a Varsity race to see if you can hang with the big dogs.

Meanwhile, the teammates can lie low getting faster with each race, cutting seconds off their time and giving everyone something to cheer about. Unfortunately for them, the coach will eventually refocus and start yelling, “You better start running faster! You got no more excuses! If you are not passing anyone, you’re slowing down! Points! Points! Those people are points!”

Josiah started the season with a 21:48 and has currently shaved his time to 21:33. He is a long way from his final time last season of 19:26. “What’s wrong with you?” Coach says. “Ahh, I do this every year,” Josiah replies.

“Nah,” James remarks, “you’re just old.”

In the starting chute of the 5k race, there were signs with mile pace times spaced out for all the runners to figure out where they should stand. I walked from the start line backward and passed where Josiah stood (6 minute mile), where Dale stood (7 minute mile), and where most of the rest of the runners stood. I didn’t stop until I reached a sign that said “Walkers and Strollers.” I stood just in front of that sign, hoping I would be faster than them.

One funny thing about starting at the back of the race is you don’t hear the race instructions or even the gun firing. Everyone in the back is talking and laughing and running into old friends. There are whole family groups in matching shirts, Indians, Pilgrims, Santas, reindeer, dogs, and guys wearing nothing but shorts and body paint.

One family had jerseys printed with a thanksgiving food item on the back in place of their name. There was “mashed potato”, “buttered rolls”, “stuffing”, etc. They were pretty funny.

At some point we all noticed that people had started moving and we began to move as well. It was a bit like being in traffic: gaps opening, slowdowns, stops, and restarts. It took me almost 3 minutes of movement just to cross the starting line. Gabe told me later that the last people crossed the starting line 6:25 after the start of the race.

The first mile was an obstacle course of runners, strollers, and walkers who decided to line up ahead of their actual pace point. There was a lot of weaving in and out, people dashing past, and others suddenly stopping. I maneuvered as best as I could and tried to run a steady pace. There was a hill halfway through the first mile that elicited groans from my fellow trotters. Josiah’s coach had warned us of the hill, and since it wasn’t as tough as I had envisioned, I made it up at a steady trot.

The first mile felt the longest to me, because with all the maneuvering, I was completely unsure of my pace.  I made it to the 1 mile point in 12:05 and was quite shocked as I had been anticipating running 13 minute miles. At one point, I saw the Kenyan who would go on to win the race heading to the finish. The second mile is usually my most discouraging, but on this course it was slightly downhill. Instead of my discouraging incline, I had an encouraging decline. I ran the second mile in 11:55 and surprised myself again.

I spent the majority of the third mile running with the Indians. A group of teenagers had come dressed as Native Americans and they were moving at about my pace. They received a lot of cheers from the crowds on the side of the road which further spurred me on. During the third mile, I passed a man pacing a teenage girl. As I passed, he said to me, “You’re doing good…Good pace…Keep it up.” I was thankful for his encouragement.

I was thankful to him and (throughout the entire race) thankful to God. I spent the majority of the race thanking God for all the blessings He has given me. My thanks started with the good health that enables me to run, and continued with the blessings of safety, food, home, family, and friends.

Towards the end of the third mile, I passed a guy running with a boom box and had to laugh at all the weird looks he got from the abundance of ipod wearers. I suspect he was blaring an 80s radio station while he ran along. It was as if he had been caught in a time warp.

As I approached the corner of the finishing chute, I saw Dale and the kids cheering me on. I turned the corner to see the clock at 39:30. I knew that I most likely had run 37 minutes or less because the time chip around my ankle would deduct the almost three minutes it took to cross the start line, but I was determined to cross that line before the clock hit 40 minutes. (My original goal was simply to finish the race having run the entire way, but living with my pace and time watching husband, there had to be a time goal for him.)

Turkeys trot fast for a variety of reasons: to finish in a higher place, to set a PR, to beat the guy next to him, and to accomplish a goal started 10 months ago by running at a full sprint.

Zeke claims, once again, that he now wants to run the mile fun run. Upon completion of last year’s race, he declared, “I never want to do that again!” Dale made a similar claim after each of his marathons. The declaration finally held true after the third.

During the last two months, I have been able to complete the 3.1 mile distance once a week. On my other two running days, I run for 20 minutes (1.5 miles) and 30 minutes (2.3 miles) respectively. If I happen to pull a fourth running day out during the week, I run another 20 minutes.

I do no hill workouts, no speed workouts, no strength workouts. My goal since January has simply been to run the distance without stopping.

Unfortunately, this goal is not a satisfactory goal for Blaze. When he is with me, he tries to inspire me to a faster tempo by running ahead; he frequently fertilizes the grass so I can work on sudden deceleration; and he periodically looks up at me as if to say, “Seriously, lady, is this all you got?”

One of his favorite activities is to try to goad me into playing “catch me if you can.” I’ll see him sitting on the back steps and I’ll grab the leash. As soon as I open the door, he will dash down into the backyard daring me to chase and catch him. Unfortunately for him, it never works. I know I cannot catch him, so I just close the door and leave for the run without him. He will then run over to the back gate to watch me go, giving me an accusatory (you’re a poor sport) look.

This 10 month training plan to run 3.1 miles has had its starts and stops, injury breaks, and discouraging days. However, since January, I have lost ten pounds and gained more energy and a better sleeping pattern.

When I started 10 months ago, I could not run 1/4 mile without stopping. During every 3.1 mile run, somewhere in between 1.5 and 2.5 miles, I want to quit. On my practice course, there is a small incline, just prior to the 2.5 mile mark that discourages me each time I run. Some runners have heartbreak hill, I simply have discouraging incline.

It is not an insurmountable obstacle, just the drudgery of the uphill that slows me down (and believe me there isn’t a lot slower I can go) and makes me ask myself, “Why am I doing this?” The thought always returns first with, “It is not worth it, just quit.” This is the place where my stubborn character is beneficial.

After 10 months, I can’t say that I love running, but I do know that I no longer hate it.

I purchased all the food earlier in the week, cleaned the house in advance (shocking, I know), and baked the coca cola cake that morning. I deluded myself into thinking I would have time for party set up before guests arrived. I planned to watch the races and leave immediately after the last runner crossed the line.

To provide added pressure, my party coordinator (Abby) abandoned me to attend a sleepover at her friend’s house. (Mom says she did it because she is still mad about the phone.)

Dale and I drove separate cars to a race an hour and fifteen minutes away, so he could stay until Josiah finished his warm down run. I picked up Gabe and Zeke from school, and we drove up to horse and wine country. The drive up was quite beautiful with the rolling hills, the changing leaves, and the mountains in the distance. The race was held at a boarding school, a lovely place in the middle of nowhere.

It was a beautiful day for the race, except for the cold wind slicing through it. I made Josiah pack his long under gear, and thankfully he put it on.

The team had run the course earlier in the season so they knew to keep to the front for the first quarter of a mile. They looked good at the start and good in the middle. As they approached the line, we were yelling like crazy, because we weren’t sure if Josiah had made it in time.

The top 15 racers out of 89 make all conference. By the skin of his teeth, he was fifteenth. Two boys and two girls from his team made all conference. A good showing for a team with only 11 runners.

When the last team girl crossed the line, I left for the drive home, praying all the way that no one would arrive before I did. I arrived home 15 minutes prior to the start of the party. Thankfully, no one was waiting in front of the house which may have been because most people got lost. (I never know how my prayers are going to get answered.) The first guest to arrive was declared my replacement daughter, and she, along with Gabe, helped me finish setting up.

Several guests arrived before Josiah dashed in covered in mud and sweat. He ran upstairs to take a shower. Once everyone was there, they grew indignant at his lateness and started calling for him to hurry up and telling him it was rude to be late to his own party.

Other than an unplanned trip to the store to buy more skewers, a wheelbarrow of wood begged off the neighbor, and one broken chair, the party was a lot of fun.

If you ever have to make a choice between being late over the finish line or late for your party, choose being late for your party. They won’t give you a medal if you’re late over the line, but they’ll still give you gifts when you’re late for your party.