A Humbling Race

Nineteen years ago at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas I ran my last race; involuntarily. Having run on and off pretty much since school I’m not in bad shape, albeit slower all the time. I was therefore both flattered and a bit leery when a neighbor asked if I’d join a group in the Amberg-Sulzbach Landkeislauf (local county run), an eleven person, 36 mile, relay. Walter insisted it was a “just for fun” group of eleven middle aged men and women with no pressure … right. Although I hate running hills, I didn’t protest when assigned the third, and only uphill, leg of the race … that silly pride thing again.

Anyway, the race took place 16 May and only one word came to mind at the time … humbling. The transfer point was a zoo, way too narrow for 380 reported teams to reasonably hand off; I never saw my teammate cross the line amongst a large throng and only tagged hands after he shouted my name. I was soon passed by perhaps 20 people; the only consolation being only one had ANY gray hair and he still only looked to be thirty. Call me a chauvinist but the five women who passed made it worse still; even if they were half my age. Somehow I did manage to pass six or seven folks and spent most of the race trading places with a yellow shirted young gent … he had a small advantage uphill but the occasional flats were clearly mine. I really expected to have something, anything, left in the way of a kick at the end but couldn’t pass yellow shirt on the upslope and crossed the line completely exhausted a bit over 29 minutes (3.6 miles). Luckily, the next teammate at least spotted me. Lisa claimed I looked “dead”.

It is pleasing to announce that the “Christian August Sprinters” (our street is named after a local 17th century prince who ruled our fare city; I can only assume the last name implying speed was an inside joke) placed 205th among 324 finishing teams. The Amberg Ski Club won; an hour and a quarter ahead of us. In typical German fashion the winners were announced in a large beer tent and we celebrated our showing that evening with a wonderful small barbeque.

Now for the part that confuses me. For the past three years I’ve tracked runs on a spreadsheet and have a clue how well or, more often, poorly I do in distance, time and pace. My best pace is highlighted automatically and historically has always been on the flat as a pancake Katy trail along the Missouri River when visiting my folks. I did not feel like the race had been a good run but … in a huge surprise, it was the fastest pace I’d booked these three years. You tell me what to make of it. I did get a t-shirt.