Surftown 5K - Westerly, R.I. - Sept. 8, 2019

After my less-than-spectacular return to the 5K last month, I was determined to get back into a heavy-duty training program for the next eight weeks, which would culminate in the Run Little Falls 5K in my old hometown.  So I returned to Hal Higdon’s Advanced 5K program for the first time in seven years in hopes that I could at least knock a minute or so off of my time from the Dover race.

As is typical with the Hal Higdon programs, a practice race is prescribed halfway through the training.  It is a good way to gauge how well things are going, and it provides a much-appreciated extra rest day, the day before the race. 

My midway 5K came on Sept. 8, the first day of my weeklong wedding anniversary vacation to Block Island, so Gloria and I found a race at Misquamicut Beach in Westerly, R.I., just over the border from Connecticut (and one town west of Weekapaug, a little town forever memorialized in song by Phish).  The Surftown Half Marathon & 5K, hosted by the Hartford Marathon Foundation, is actually more the former than the latter, with about a thousand participants running the 13.1 and some stiff competition in the lead pack (everyone in the top 10 did a sub-6 pace!); and about half that doing the 5K, with a very soft field (spoiler - nobody did a sub-6 pace!).

I have been doing speed training for eight weeks now, so I figured my muscles would remember how to go fast and stay fast for at least a little while – certainly this race would be an improvement over the last one, right?

Reluctantly, I planted myself toward the front of the pack at the start line and pushed off hard at the go signal.  I knew that at least the first mile, west along Atlantic Avenue and parallel to the beach, was going to be flat, so I threw myself into it, surprisingly breaking into the lead for the first few tenths of a mile.  Shortly thereafter, though, 26-year-old Caitlin Abelseth pulled ahead of me and stayed in the front for the rest of the race, eventually winning with a well-run, but relatively slow 18:47 (I have run races where I barely won my age group, let alone the whole megillah, with a time like that).  Her movement was swift, her pace consistent and her form impeccable.  I bet she is capable of much more than that 6:02 pace.  It seemed effortless for her. 

Firmly in second place, I turned right onto Maplewood Avenue and hit the first mile marker with a 6:04.  Already, though, I could tell this was not going to go as well as I had hoped.  A left onto Bayberry Road brought us to another left onto Ocean View Highway and only a small incline before the turnaround.  My second mile was not any better, with a 6:11.  And I was already out of gas.  What has happened to me?

At that point, my head was swirling with thoughts like, “It’s really over – my best racing days are behind me.  What’s the point anymore?  Why am I doing this?  I’m going to be 45 soon and now my age is finally catching up to me.”

My age was not the only thing catching up to me – 15-year-old Ryan Reed, an obvious track kid, was behind me the whole race, but dug into his reserves and passed me on the final stretch along Atlantic Avenue.  I, however, had no reserves.  I felt heavy and leaden; my legs felt like rubber; and I wanted it to be over.  I pushed as hard as I could, looking for anything – any burst of energy or extra gear or hidden strength to surge to the finish line.  But there was no surge to be had.  My third mile was a 6:13. 

A race that I would have won handily a year ago ended up being my slowest 5K in four years (when I came back from a six-month hiatus from an injury).  Instead of improving upon my Dover result, I blew it and ran a 19:18 - my second worst race of the last 10 years or so.

It was frustrating and heartbreaking (as well as tiring and painful).  And yet, there was my wonderful wife, Gloria, putting it all into perspective for me – reminding me that I had managed to come in third place overall; that the people that beat me were decades younger than I; and that this race was only part of my training, and not the finished product of my training regimen.  Most of all, while I was busy being hard on myself, she was proud of me for another race accomplishment.

So, there you have it.  I gave it my all.  My all is not what it was a year ago and will probably be even less than that a year from now.  And yet, I should be proud? 

Damn right, I should.  And I will be proud three weeks from now in Little Falls, knowing that, once again, I will bring my best game, whatever it may be, as a 45-year-old guy that has nothing left to prove.