|OFFICIAL RECORD||ACTUAL TIME||GOAL|
|OVERALL TIME||DNF (!?!?!)||02:23:06||02:20:00|
Botching the start time. In the race FAQ I read that walkers were welcome and encouraged to start 30 minutes early to avoid course closures. Feeling mighty fine after my zippy 10k in Marble Falls, I scoffed at that suggestion and thought, “No thanks. I’ll start with the rest of the racers.” But somehow in my hubris I miscalculated the start time even for the rest of the racers and wound up rolling out on the course between the 10mi and 5K start guns, 15 minutes after the official start of the 10 milers. No problem, surely I can average 15 min faster than the next slowest 10-miler walker right? Right?!
Missing the turn. In my zealous review of the race FAQ, I didn’t bother to review the course map. This is a bad habit I’ve fallen into (based on my thinking that, “Hey, the only guy who really has to worry about the course is whoever is in first place.”) that has burned me before. Take is from a walker in a running race who starts 15 minutes after the gun goes off, there is one other person who should be worried about the course.
Early bird gets the worm; late bird gets the heat and humidity.
This may just not be my race. I think I swore last year never to register for this race again. Aside from this year’s mix-up, I’ve registered for and not run this race not once, but twice before. Maybe next year I’ll get a clue and just pass on this one.
Grinding out an unofficial finish. I wasn’t about to let this stinkin’ 10-miler go without a fight. This was my last race before the baby comes (and, frankly, I really needed to burn the calories!), so I power-walked through the finish line, past the finishers’ party, and right on down onto the walking trail to grind out my missing miles.
Course Martial’s Props. After I missed the turn, one way I found my way back on course was by the flickering lights of the Martial’s trucks picking up cones, water stops, and porta-potties as they were closing it down. Humiliated in my long, slow approach, I strongly considered tearing off my bib and doglegging it into the nearest shrub for cover. Instead, and against what I thought was my better judgment, I explained to the guy that I’d started late and missed the turn. He sized me up (to kick me out, I assumed) then checked his watch and gave mea high-five: “Dang, you’re trucking it!”
“Go Mom!” Someone shouted this at me from the sidewalk, and even though it took a good minute for me to realize who they were shouting to, by the time I finally did, it was a total day-maker.