DNF and DFL

Two of the worst acronyms in running and triathlons are “DNF” and “DFL”.  “DNF” stands for “did not finish”, and is what you’ll see in place of your time on the final results if you start a race but don’t complete it.  It’s often a sign of a person who didn’t train enough and bit off way more than they could chew, but a lot of people DNF due to injury, dehydration, or a bicycle that simply revolts during a triathlon and strands you in the middle of the race until the Sweep Wagon comes to get you. 

 “DFL” stands for “Dead F***ing Last.”  Sure, you finished, but with not a single soul behind you.  DFL means that you were the absolute worst person in the race.  Everyone beat you, even the competitors out there who are older than dirt and the ones who don’t take racing seriously, got ripped the night before, and just raced with a pretty severe hangover.  And they still beat you.

Earlier this morning I thought about DNF and DFL while sitting on the front steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  No, I didn’t get ripped last night and now have a killer hangover.  I’m waiting for my heat in the NY Road Runner’s “Fifth Avenue Mile” race.

I’ve been grumbling about this race for a few weeks now.  This race is a one mile sprint down Fifth Avenue from 80^th Street to 60^th Street that took me 3 times as long to get to as it will take me to run it, and thanks to the Metro-North hourly Sunday schedule caused me to get there painfully early to wait forever for my heat to start.  But, it’s one of the last races that NY Road Runners has that will qualify me for the 2014 NYC Marathon and somewhat logically fits into my race schedule.  So far my training for this year’s marathon is going actually a lot better than expected, but just in case the whole thing crashes and burns, I at least want to be able to enter the marathon next year. 

As I sit waiting for my heat to start, all I can think about is DNF and DFL.  DNF is in my head for a couple of reasons.  First, this will be my 3^rd run in 3 days.  The others were a 4 miler on Friday and my 16 mile long run yesterday that completely beat the crap out of me and had me napping like an 80 year old man and oscillating between being starving and nauseous all day long.  I know this race is only a mile, but I still don’t feel so hot and I’m worried that my stomach will finally win the battle and I’ll basically throw up somewhere in the 70s on Fifth Avenue.  I’m pretty sure you need to get off the course and take a DNF if you do that.  I’m even more worried about DFL.  Because I've been training for the marathon by run/walking, I haven't run a continuous mile since April.  I keep picturing myself getting passed by every 40 – 49 year old woman in New York City.  This race season has been just awful: 3 months in a boot, 4 months without running, 0 of 4 triathlons completed (which if you’re curious is scored as DNS: “did not start”.  Yeah, that one also sucks).  The last thing I want to do is run my last qualifying mile and end up Dead F***ing Last.

I try to take my mind off it and decide to walk down a few blocks to watch one of the heats that goes off before mine.  I find a spot where I have a great view of the next heat, men aged 35 – 39.  In front of the racers is a truck with a clock on it so that the leaders can see how fast they are going the entire way.  The horn blows, and the first guys out of the gate are going so fast that they actually catch up to the truck and make the driver speed up a bit.  I watch the man who is going to end up finishing the race in 4 minutes and 28 seconds (and he wasn’t the fastest overall.  That person ran it in 4:09).  I’m in absolute awe – and then I see something even more amazing.  I watch all the guys who are going to lose to Mr. 4:28.  They all look like they are determined or just having a great time.  And then I see the most inspiring thing I’ve seen all morning: the guy in the back who is going to finish this heat Dead F***ing Last.  He is at least 30 seconds behind everyone else.  He’s not saving his energy for the last ¼ mile where he’s going to turn on the rocket boosters and beat them all.  He’s shuffling along, either because he’s running on an injury and just trying to finish, or because he is simply the worst runner I have ever seen.  And the look on his face shows just as much determination as the guy who’s a few blocks away from winning this heat, ¾ of a mile down Fifth Avenue. I can’t read his mind, but I’ll bet anything that DNF and DFL weren’t even a thought in his head.

After he passes me, I walk back to the start line where my own heat is about to begin.  While we’re waiting for the gun to go off, I look down at the last 5,280 feet separating me from next year's marathon and I think about that man that I saw.  Four years ago I had never run a step, and 5 years ago I was too fat to even fit into running clothes.  Yes, I’ve had a crappy season.  My bike never left the trainer it’s connected to in the basement, and my wetsuit is collecting dust in my closet, untouched since 2012.  I’m stuck having to run 4 days in a row and I commuted for an hour to run a race that is so short that I won’t even work up a sweat.  But I’m here.  I’m about to qualify for the marathon for the 4^th year in a row.  I won’t win, but I am determined to do my best, just like Mr. DFL in the heat before mine.

In case you’re curious, I finished the race and I didn’t even puke on anyone.  I’m qualified for the 2014 NY Marathon.  I wasn’t even Dead F***ing last.  I finished in 8 minutes and 51 seconds, almost a full 4 minutes faster than the last woman in my age group.  And technically, since this was my first one mile race, I actually got a PR (personal record) :-)

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