First Meet with Run Club

I’m not a fast runner––although I did run a marathon in 2007 and have competed in numerous 5k races. Nevertheless, my completion times are pathetic. I run to stay in shape and I like organized races because they are fun events.

I haven’t consistently run for the past two years though, so I registered for a 5k race and then joined a local running club to begin training. But I panicked upon learning that a 9-time Boston Marathoner would be leading my first group run.

From the second I hit “start” on my chrono and set off on my toes, I thought I was running too fast. My face flushed and my body lumbered. I alternated between heavy breathing and shallow gasping. My mind screamed, “I’M DYING,” but I was familiar with the route we were running and knew with certainty that I would survive (because I had before). It turned out to be easy to ignore my mind because all I could think about was throwing up.

Up ahead of me, the only other girl in the group ran at a 6- to 8-minute mile pace. She was booking. Since our route looped the Chestnut Hill Reservoir, I could see her across the water conversing with another fast running mate. The only sounds coming from me were huffing-and-puffing and grunting.

Luckily, the Boston Marathoner was very gracious. He kept his pace with me and another guy in the last of the pack. Throughout the entire run, the Marathoner chatted about different topics. I would’ve contributed to the conversation, but my tongue felt like it had swelled up within my whole head.

Did I think about stopping? No, but I wanted to slow down. I was running outside of my comfort zone, physically pushing myself––and I was gripped with fear the entire time. I faded from the Marathoner a couple of times, but I forced myself not to drop back too far. From my experience running with other groups, I know how mentally important it is to keep up with the pack. After what seemed like an ETERNITY, we turned a corner and were on the return route home.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the other guy in our pack stopped running. Now it was just me and the Marathoner in the final stretch. We picked up our pace. I pumped my arms and legs hard, and raced the elite runner to the finish line.

I had such a strong finish: 3.5 miles in 35 minutes––that’s a 10-minute mile for me, a significant improvement over running by myself.

My spirits soared. I was a champion for finishing. I had just run the race of the century.