Race Morning

There’s a certain feeling that comes the morning of a big race, whether it’s a triathlon, a 5k or a longer run like 10 miles.  There is of course much preparation and training to get that point. But as the race draws closer to race morning, I think about what I could have done differently in training.  I think about that Saturday morning run 3 weeks ago that I missed because a bottle of red wine had more to say than a good night’s sleep.  I think about how I was supposed to run 8 miles and really only did 6.5. I tell myself that many people don’t even attempt doing a race, so I’m already ahead of the game.

The night before the race I lay out my running clothes, or swimming and biking attire if it’s a triathlon I’m doing.  I carefully pin on my race bib on one of my favorite running shirts, lay out my favorite socks (yes, I do have favorite running socks), and a pair of running shorts, usually something bright and fun.  Running watch and water bottle, check check.  The alarm is set, and I drink water and Gatorade to start preparing my body for the grueling workout. 

After a restless night of sleep, I wake up on my own and turn the alarm off before it can buzz.  I dress in the dark, and go to the kitchen for a small snack and more water.  And then…the nerves start to hit.  Have I trained enough?  What am I doing up on a Sunday at 6am?  This is stupid, I’m no long distance runner or triathlete, who am I fooling?  I know my neurosis is not just me.  Last year we did a 5k on Easter when visiting my sister in Pittsburgh, and K hadn’t really been running.  Looking somewhat pale and forlorn, he looked around at the runners stretching out and stated, “These are not my people.”  I knew he wanted to head for the car.  And I also knew that feeling.

Race morning, is a funny one.  All the preparation can’t help the anxiety and the nerves.  The unknown of what you are about to embark on.  Not knowing if the course will be hilly, or where the water stations will be situated.  Looking around, the lines for the bathroom are LONG.  Knowing that this was a 2^nd or 3^rd trip for some people…nerves are hitting everyone.   Then a runner will walk by who looks like Jackie Joyner Kersee and even I start to think that “these are not my people.” 

Though the anxiety and nervousness can be binding, I know this race will not kill me.  I know lives will not be lost, and I will make it over that finish line.  I know that at the end, I will sprint toward the finish as if I’d been running that fast all along.  I will grab a banana and water and cool off.  After the race when we go to breakfast we will talk about the race as if we just came back from war.  Did you see that hill?  How about that old lady on the side lines cheering with the cowbell?  Or, did you see that man fall and get pretty banged up…he just got up and started running again?  It feels good to rehash…there’s a sense of comradery, and we’ve all survived. 

But first there is the morning of the race, and the undeniable nerves and anxiety.  Knowing, that very soon, I am about to embark on a big journey.  And knowing that there will be a time to rehash all that took place, good or bad…and that this race will not kill me.  Time to (wo)man up, and head-on face the race.