Sprint for Soldiers 10K

I won this race.

I wanted to get that out of the way first because it was one of the many things that did not go the way I had hoped or planned. That was just a happy accident. Not much else went well for me during this race in Tarrytown, N.Y., on the grounds of the beautiful Lyndhurst Mansion. 

I know what you are thinking - "Daniel, are you really going to complain about a race that you won?  What more do you want??"  (That is pretty much what my mother said.)

Truth be told, what I wanted was to run the race for which I trained (that old mantra again).  I wanted to run hard, give it maximum effort and be proudly spent at the end.  I wanted to feel confident and triumphant as I increase my race distances post-injury.  No PR necessary, just a positive feeling that I got something good out of the hard training I put into it.

Instead, on this hot, sunny Aug. 2, I was faced with a challenging course (mostly trail with four big hills), a small field, minimal course markings, and bare-bones staffing. 

Because there were so few runners, I planted myself at the front of the start line.  The beginning was too easy - downhill on a paved path...but then, what was that turnoff with the cones to my left? Was that where the course went?  Did I already blow it? 

The guy behind me saw my hesitation and shouted, "Keep going straight!"  Knowing I was going too fast down the hill, I pulled back a bit and let the kid pass me.  Figuring he knew where he was going, I followed his lead.  After a steep, crushing uphill, the kid led us off the paved path and behind a building to the dirt trail. 

Prior to the race, I jogged part of the course, so the one thing I knew was location of the first mile marker at the start of the trail, and somehow, we had missed it - we entered the trail too far into it.  I knew something was wrong, but what could I do at that point?  I continued along the rocky, uneven trail toward the turnaround point and hoofed it back along the trail and past that first mile marker we missed earlier, followed by an uphill that led back to the paved path. 

The kid and the other guy near us all continued to the finish - they were doing the 5K.  I had no idea of my pace (there were no other mile markers), I was alone in the lead for the second loop, my spirit was crushed by the wrong turn that would provide an inaccurate result, my legs were burning from those two big hills, my mind was psyched out at the prospect of having to do those hills a second time, and the fatigue I felt was more like the 20th mile of a marathon rather than the usual muscle-shredding feeling of short races.

Going much slower on the second loop, I was at least able to appreciate the view of the Hudson River on this clear day and followed the paved path up the hill, in *front* of the building, around to the dirt turn-off that led to that first mile marker and back on the trail.

Pushing through miles five and six along the trail, I was fading quickly. I knew I should go faster. I thought I COULD go faster. Instead, I grunted and groaned as my back ached and my legs refused to increase their turnover up the last hill and into the finish, where the clock said 38:15.

Knowing that was wrong, I found the second place 5K guy - he had a GPS watch and said we accidentally sliced off 3/10 of a mile with that wrong turn. So with some extrapolation, I'd say my time was around 40 minutes, which is about a 6:30 pace. That is far, far off from 6:17 for which I had trained.

So yes, I won. But it felt hollow because sometimes the only person with whom I compete is myself; and in that race, I lost.

But I am not disappointed. I gave it my all, continuing to push past my injury. Plus, with the money going to the Wounded Warrior charity, it was for a good cause.

I guess my mom inadvqrtently had a point. What more could I want?