1:24 PM, Monday afternoon and, a day afterward, my legs are a bit sore -- but not too bad...
The crowd surged forward with a couple of false starts before things actually got underway. It was a chilly but clear morning and me, both my parents, and my brother Joel mingled with a crowd that would eventually break the attendance record for Pittsburgh’s Race for the Cure. Over twenty-five thousand people participated in the event on Mother’s Day. After finding our Mom a good spot by the finish line, me, my brother and my Dad made our way to the starting point, where people of all ages smiled, joked, stretched or contemplated the more somber meanings behind the five kilometer race.
In the steadily growing crowd, were runners with pink placards on their backs dedicating their participation to the memory of mothers, wives, sisters or other special people who had succumbed to breast cancer -- as well as others with signs that were in celebration of women who had survived the disease. Many survivors themselves (identified by pink shirts and/or caps) were participants in the race or in the 5k walk. Though there was a sense of remembrance, the over-all feel was one of hope.
The true start of the race began with a cheer and applause, as runners began crossing beneath a graceful arch of blue and white balloons. My brother, my dad and I stayed clumped together as we walked/trotted up toward the starting point and, eventually, crossed over.
Having never run five kilometers before (or, indeed, any kind of race since High School) I wasn’t at all certain that I could do it -- and the slight uphill climb near the starting point got my leg’s attention fast. Still, the cheers and the enthusiasm of the runners around me were encouraging.
Joel vanished into the crowd ahead within a minute or so. My dad and I stuck together for a bit longer, until the crowd thinned and everyone seemed to get into their personal pace. The race route, which wound mostly through Schenley Park, was Spring-like and clear -- and was spotted with encouraging onlookers.
I was feeling pretty good by the time I hit the first water station at the one mile point. I checked my watch and saw that twelve minutes had elapsed -- hardly a blistering pace but better than my normal speed when running on a treadmill. (I later found out that the winner of the race crossed the finish line a few minutes after I downed a cup of cold water, handed to me by a smiling volunteer at the first water station.)
In a sight that was both inspiring and depressing, I saw two guys running smoothly through the crowd while wearing large (and apparently fully packed) military backpacks. They didn't even look remotely tired...
By the time I got to the second water station (at the two mile point) I was, shall we say, "feeling it". I slowed to a fast walk for a minute, drank my water, and then started running again. A little bit further on and it was mostly huffing and steady foot-pounding from myself and the runners around me.
Toward the end, the race course climbed a rather steep rise, curving first one way then the other. I really had to push at this point -- but I was encouraged by a woman and her daughter who moved briskly up the hill while carrying on a conversation.
The hill conquered, we moved into a curve, where police and spectators clapped and told us it was all downhill from there. True enough, the end of the race was soon in sight. As I crossed the finish line, I looked up to my right and saw Joel and my mother waving to me.
A nice lady at the end of the line collected the bar code from my racing bib and I walked around to join my family. A little bit later we clapped and cheered for my Dad, as he finished the race.
After some free water and bananas (and a couple of complementary Eat ‘n Park smiley face cookies for my Dad and brother) we all went home and had a toast to Mom, the race, and to Mother’s Day...
It took me thirty-seven minutes and seven seconds to run the five kilometers (about 3.2 miles) and I’m a bit sore today -- but I’m very glad that I participated in the race and hope I can do it again next year.
--- JWR, 5/10/99