Well, it's done. Woke up at 4:30 this morning, wide awake. Just started reading a book and tried not to let it bother me that I'd only gotten five hours' sleep; jazzed up about the race I suppose. After stretching and a cereal bar, made it out to the car at 6:20, happy to be on schedule. Turned on the engine, and a "Check Tire Pressure!" notice appeared, which hasn't popped up in, well, years. I checked all the tires; they were at 25 psi. Low, but not ridiculously low; decided to risk it.
Two friendly teenage girls waved me into the parking lot with big red flags. It was the overflow lot; "the other one is probably full," they said. It wasn't too much of a walk. The race was well-organized, not too crowded, and low-key overall, which is just what I wanted; and it was almost entirely flat.
I started pretty fast, for me, then after a quarter-mile, realized what I was doing and slowed down. After one mile a big, ridiculous grin attached itself to my face. The effort of slogging through 10 kilometers soon got rid of it; but the same thought kept coming back to me: "I'm so happy to be in decent enough shape that I can do this race, at this speed, without killing myself!" Good health--maintaining it, celebrating it--is the reason I do these races; and I was enjoying mine enormously for those first few miles of the race.
Things got harder at around Mile 4, but not drastically so. I was about 80 percent sure that I could make it to the end without slowing down. The nihilistic thought crossed my mind: "Why on earth are you even doing this? What's the point?" But I chased it away and breathed in the crisp, early-morning air, thought about the cappuccino I would enjoy after the race, but mostly just stayed focused on the present moment, my body and my breath.
I have to admit: for me, the best part of any race is after it's done...but in some crazy way, this race was almost fun.
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