New York Road Runner Bronx 10 Miler

It’s early on a Sunday morning and I am running through the south Bronx.  Fast.  No, I didn’t suddenly decide to put my old tae kwon do and self-defense skills to good use.  I’m in the middle of a race.

New York Road Runner’s organizes races that are predominantly in Manhattan, but they make a point to nod at least once to all the other boroughs and have a race in each one.  In the Bronx this year it’s a 10 miler, and to entice runners to come out here, they have offered that if we run 4 of the 5 borough races that we get guaranteed entry to the New York City half marathon next spring.

I signed up for the Manhattan half marathon, but it was snowed out, so they gave all entrants a pass on that one and let us count it without running (and I felt so guilty that the first day the roads were clear after that storm, I ran 13.1 miles at home to make it fair).  The next borough race was the Brooklyn half marathon, but I was still healing from my Achilles tendon injury and couldn’t run it.  This left me forced to complete the Queens 10K in July, the Bronx 10 miler today, and the Staten Island half marathon in October.

So, here I find myself on a comfortable end of summer day, jogging along the barely shaded Grand Concourse with about 10,000 other runners.  I’ll admit that at the start, my heart just wasn’t into it.  I haven’t done any race since the Westpoint Triathlon in mid-August, and I haven’t done a road race since a 10K with NY Road Runners on a sweltering hot day in mid-July.  My 7 races in 8 weeks over the summer is kind of a distant memory, and I just feel out of my race groove.   Fortunately, I was driving a neighbor to the race, so I had to get up for it, and if I was going to drive my neighbor there, I might as well run it myself.  But that’s how motivated I was at the start.  Besides, except for that Westpoint triathlon, all my races have been lousy, so I figured this one would be, too.

My excitement didn’t increase as the race started.  The first mile was pretty much straight up, which knocks the happiness out of anyone, especially a runner who is kind of sour to begin with.  Then, I remembered looking at the course map and that the first 4 miles were straight out on the Grand Concourse.  No turns, no shade, no change of scenery.  Ho hum.

After the course flattened out, I do admit that some endorphins kicked in and I started to enjoy myself.  Races in Central Park are always very congested, even for people who run as slowly as I do.  But the Grand Concourse is nice and wide, so everyone had plenty of room.

Now, this course is basically an out and back, so the first 4 straight miles out are the same last 4 miles straight back.  At about mile 3 I thought about this, and got bored enough that I think I may have even dozed off while running.  But, then something cool happened.  On the other side of the double yellow line, two volunteers on bikes came speeding towards us from the other direction, blowing whistles and yelling “lead runner coming”, and a few seconds later, two men came flying by.  They were dead even, keeping up stride for stride with each other.  Now, I was just at mile 3, which meant they were at mile 7.  I looked at my watch and was just over 31 minutes in.  By their race numbers I knew they were in the first corral, which had crossed the start line about 4 minutes before me (yes, that’s how slow I am, and how far back I have to start.  Hey, if you didn’t even run at all today, keep all the tortoise and molasses jokes to yourself, thanks).  But that meant that these two men just ran 7 miles in about 35 minutes.  I had realized this, and then had two simultaneous thoughts: “Wow,” and “Holy sh*t”.  God, I was slow.  This did motivate me, though, and I picked up my pace a bit.  I kept watching the trickle of runners on the other side for about 4 or 5 minutes until I saw what I was looking for – the leading woman.  When I saw her, you would have thought she was my oldest and dearest friend.  I yelled out, “Lead woman!” and started clapping, and a bunch of runners around me looked over and started cheering for her, too.  She smiled, gave us a thumbs up and kept going.  It was cool.

At mile 4 we finally got to turn and spend two miles running around a couple of parks.  This helped to break up the monotony, and I also realized that I was enjoying my race.  I’ve been training for the marathon, so at this point 4 miles feels like nothing, barely a warm-up.  And it felt good to feel so strong and capable.

By mile 6 we were back on the Grand Concourse, starting the 4 mile trudge back to the finish.  I looked at my watch and realized that my pace had vastly improved from pretty much any other run I’d done this year.  But, then I hit a small problem; my knee started to hurt.  At first I ignored it, wanting to keep this good pace going.  But, my knee started talking louder, and I thought for a minute.  Did I want to ignore the pain and try to run through it, or was it better to sacrifice time, stretch it out a bit and potentially save myself from an injury that could interfere with my run for the marathon (pun intended :-).  I decided to be mature about it, so I pulled over to the side, stretched for about 2 minutes, and then I jumped back onto the course.

Things were fine until I passed the 7 mile marker.  That’s when I gave up, at least mentally.  I was just done.  And this is the problem I have faced most of this race season and for pretty much every long training run I’ve done for the marathon.  I’ve been giving up a good 3 to 5 miles before my runs are over.  I don’t really know why.  Maybe I’m afraid to fail.  Maybe I’m afraid to succeed.  Maybe both.  But, then I thought to myself, “Nope, not today.”  I thought about the stream of runners I saw as I headed out and they were sprinting back.  I thought about those 2 men who were running neck and neck, and how neither of them was slowing down and handing the race to the other runner.  They were each pushing through whatever was going on in their minds to keep up with each other.  If they did that, then I could keep up with myself.

Suddenly, the rest of my race was a breeze.  Miles 7 and 8 kind of just slipped away.  I realized the 4 miles out was not half as boring as they were going out, even though it was the exact same course in a reverse order.  Wow, what a difference a sudden change in attitude makes.

At the 9 mile marker, I was elated that I only had 1 mile left, and at the same time I was kind of sad that I only had 1 mile left.  What if I didn’t like my next run?  What if my long training runs were still awful?  My next long training run is my first of 3 twenty milers.  How was I going to get through them?  Before I could get myself back into my funk, I decided to just enjoy the moment and be happy about the run I was doing now, rather than the run I have to deal with in a week.  So, I just ran. 

A few minutes later I started hearing the music at the finish line, and a few minutes after that I saw the finish line itself.  I sprinted to the end, crossed the finish line, and looked at my watch.  My time was good, not great.  Stopping twice to stretch (I had to again after mile 8) certainly hurt my time, but it did nothing to my mood.  I was thrilled.  After chasing my old love of running all year, I finally found it on a boring straight course early on a Saturday in the south Bronx.