I had mixed feelings about running this one. Having focused on swimming most of the summer to prepare for crossing the Hudson River, this was my only race after that Big Swim. Not a lot of running in these legs, but not a long course, either. Friday night, I walked into a curb with enough force that I flew across the sidewalk and into a hedge, and hurt my right foot’s big toe. I assumed I wouldn’t be able to run the next day, so went out with Rachel and friends for a beer and got to bed late. But next morning, the toe was not sprained or broken, and it felt okay in running shoes. So, I would have another excuse for any mediocre results: I’m almost 61; I bruised my big toe; and the cat ate my homework.
This is a great community event, complete with someone in a headless costume on top of a horse. (He couldn’t race; horses are not allowed!). During my warmup, I came across a portable toilet with a short line — gold! — so got near the starting line moments before the race began.
Coach Steve and I thought that with such limited training and such a hilly course, I’d average 8:05 minute per mile. I figured anything under 8 is a damn good mile. So imagine the thrill when not just the first downhill mile but also the second relatively flat mile were in the 7:30s. At about 2 1/2 miles, I saw the lead runner coming back — he must have been at mile 4, and was a wonder to behold. (I later spoke with him — Harbert Okuti, from Uganda, lives right there in Tarrytown — and he finished in 31:54, an unbelievable 5:08 min/mile pace. “This guy runs with the big boys” said a seasoned participant.)
The work got serious around mile 3 1/2, when the pretty neighborhood got a bit steep. I was leapfrogging with a balding guy in a white shirt, and around mile 4 1/2, I caught up and asked how old he was. “5 (pause). 8.” I said good, we were in different age groups, because I was 60. Apparently that demoralized him and he fell behind…
Some downhill going towards the Philipse Manor train station and then the awful run into the Kingsland Point Park (where we had finished the Lighthouse Swim), and as I started the uphill to get out of the park I realized that I would have to dig deep…
… and I thought about my parents. And for the first time, instead of feeling overwhelmed with sadness at losing both of them this year, I suddenly felt lighter, buoyant. My Mom wasn’t around to worry that I’d have a heart attack while racing; my Dad wasn’t around to shake his head and ask why I put myself through this; and all I had was the blessing of remembering them. I picked up the turnover and it felt great.
The final 0.2 miles in the Sleepy Hollow races is always up, up, uphill. But knowing I was at the end made it easier to work harder. Finished, exhausted — but not hurt, and complete.
Bottom line: 48:50, or 7:52 min/mile. As they say on kindergarten report cards, “exceeded expectations”. Alas, no age group podium — 1st place (67 years old!) finished in 46:56, and 2nd and 3rd place were 3 seconds apart from each other, at 48:19 and 48:22. There’s no way I could beat those times. But 4/47 for AG, and 110/1,200 (yes, 1,200 runners) is fine by me. This was my best effort for that day. And that’s the new standard of a good race.