My First 5k, Two Years Later

It’s hard to believe, but my first 5k was two years ago.  I was talked into a Couch to 5K program by my buddy, Jim, and the race we were training for for was supposed to be a week later.  But I was in Indianapolis watching a basketball tournament and decided to test my luck with the Big Ten 5K.

Now, if you follow this blog, you know I am a huge Badger fan, so when I slid into my cut-off sleeve Wisconsin t-shirt I had a little extra boost.  The problem was, not only was this my first 5k, I had been drinking the entire day before, well into the night.

It was actually quite comical when I strolled up to the registration table.  I had no clue what the hell I was doing and was increasingly nervous about my decision.  I stammered around with other runners and inconspicuously slid into an organized pre-race stretch.  I was alone and felt it, but as I peered around at my fellow runners, I sensed these would be my people for the next couple years.

The beer poured out of me as I laid on the ground touching my toes.  I was a little bit of a mess and felt like a nap may be a better choice than running my first endurance race.  Minutes later I stood in the pen with a thousand other runners waiting for the start.  When the horn went off I surrendered to the massive flow and a timing chip with my name attached clicked off for the first time.

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I lumbered through the streets of Indianapolis searching wildly for my breath.  I wasn’t wearing a watch and had no concept of distance.  It was a thundering blow to my ego when I was anticipating the finish line and instead crept up on the first mile marker.

I struggled mightily, but eventually saw a big “3” and let out a sigh of relief.  But that’s when I realized point-one miles is longer than I thought.  Eventually I finished, but it was everything I had to cross the line that day.

Now, two years later, a Full Ironman under my belt, I will drive north on I-65 to watch my Badgers and take another shot at my first 5K.  It will be nowhere near as daunting, but it will be just as hard.

Dry Creek Trail 1/2 Marathon Part 2

Since penning Part One of my Dry Creek Race Report on the back of tree bark, it has occurred to me that I left out some valuable information.  While my wildly personal experience was noteworthy, I should have realized others may have been looking for more pertinent information, so I thought I would give a deeper analysis of the running experience.

First off, Race Director, Season Kaminski had this thing humming from the minute you got there.  It was super organized, the start line was clearly visible, and her speech on which flags to follow in the woods was spot on, not to mention loaded with trail humor!

Secondly, there was a nice downhill-ish first 3 miles.  This was mostly “roads” and ended with a not-so-nice and very steep downhill segment that was covered with leaves.  It was also my favorite part of the course.

My next favorite part came right after that downhill.  It was a nice roll through a meadow that was flat and should have signaled me of the doom that lie ahead.  But, of course I was daydreaming.

The hill that followed the meadow was unconscionable.  They claim just over a mile, but the subsequent rollers turned that climb into about three miles.  Not gonna lie, it was tough, and as my boy, Wasky, would say, “Legit.”

Listen, at the top of that long climb, nothing is more welcome than a friendly face, and that’s when I saw team photographer, and fastest Wasky, Carolyn unleashing her photographic excellence.  I smiled, laughed, and cried as I limped back into the village.

This is where the race started and hundreds . . . err . . . dozens of thirsty fans raised the roof for my arrival.  Humbled, inspired, and somewhat relieved, I moved on to the deadly Final Six.

“Rock and Roll” might be the headline for this stretch.  Lots of rocks and lots of rollers.  By mile eight, my legs were fried.  My hip was screaming bloody murder, so I settled into the Ironman-shuffle for the next mile or so, then aired it out only to hear the same song from my hip.  “Uh, dude, kinda hurtin down here.”

Yeah, but races with 700 feet of gain are going to make you hurt . . . especially if you’re not ready for them.  Which I wasn’t, but sorta was because I finished.  What bummed me most is that I never really had my breath right or find a groove with my stride, but I suppose both are more common on trails.

In all it was a memorable experience and the weather was perfect.  The food that waited for famished hurdlers was dished out by Nashville Running Company Kingpin, Lee Wilson, in an endless buffet of steaming goodness.

Runners are a different breed, but trail runners take the family tree to an entirely new limb.  They are duly committed to pain and seek it at all costs.  It was a pleasure to be in their company.

Making Some Changes to Crushing Iron

If you’ve noticed some wackiness lately it’s because I’m migrating my site to a new server, and frankly, it’s testing my nerves.  But, truthfully, it’s going to be for the best as soon as I can get everything cleaned up.

I’m still “training” for New Orleans and have been sifting through some creative workout plans with a buddy.  As soon as we dial things in I’ll let you know what’s going on, but I can tell you this much, it is a completely new take on how to train for Ironman.

I”m also learning a lot more about website design and back end techniques (this has nothing to do with Chammy Butter) like this little embedded tweet from a guy with an online newspaper that featured one of my posts.  It’s a live tweet, so feel free to comment, favorite, or retweet right from here.