Turkey Stampede 2012: Race Report

That's me in the yellow.  Yay me!

I'll be honest.  I'm not sure how to write this race report.  The race itself was quite anti-climatic compared to the training and successes I've had over the last 8 months.  Even compared to my little iddy-biddy race, this one, in a sense, pales.  But my thoughts do keep going back to last Thursday so I do feel compelled to record some thoughts on the morning.

The Turkey Stampede is a relatively new race, but one that is gaining a lot of popularity in my area.  And it attracts all kinds of runners.  Seriously.  There were some nationally ranked runners as well as duffers like me (and slower).  The race is put on by, and is a major fundraiser for, a local homeless shelter Faith Mission of Elkhart (referred to locally as just "The Mission").  There were, at last I heard, about 3000 participants in 4 events: a 10K, a 5K, a 5K walk and a 1 mile walk.  This was, quite simply, the biggest event I've ever participated in.  In fact the only other "real race" I was in fielded about 500, so right off the bat this event had much more lively feel to it.

My wife, daughters and I ran the 5K.  I had opted for a chip if only to see my name in the results, but the ladies did not.  So, those of us running the timed race were asked to line up by pace groups right after the 10K runners took off.  Unfortunately the start area was much too small for the crowd.  I tried to mosey over to where we were told to go only to find out there isn't a 18 min pace group (ha!).  Seriously though, I moved to the crowd directly behind the start line.  Unfortunately, the whole area behind the start line was kind of a Y shape, so the non-timed runners and the walkers lined up on the fork of the Y.  The idea was to start the runners and then start the walkers 5 minutes later.  It didn't work this way, of course.

So this was my first disappointment.  I had followed in instructions and lined up where I was told.  In the process I left my wife in a crowd of strangers which did nothing to help her anxiety levels which were spiking (but she also likes to follow instructions and told me to go ahead).  And since the whole mass started at the same time instead of staggering as planned, this meant I never saw my wife or daughters on the race course.  That was a big bummer.

The race starts out in a small park and moves out onto residential streets.  Already I was being passed on the left and right by walkers.  I expected this, though having it happen through the whole duration of the race was a bit disheartening.  No matter, I plowed ahead.  About a half-mile in, there is a long, steepish hill (maybe 200 yards long and an elevation of 30-50 feet?  I've very bad at guessing these sorts of things). 

Once past the hill and onto the streets, at about 2/3 of the first K, we make a right turn to start to make a great big rectangle past curious homeowners.  It was so long and I could see the next turn way, way up ahead.  It seemed like it would never get there.  It was a chore.

Did I mention the pavement turned to concrete when we turned into the houses?  That was pleasant (ha!). 

Plod Plod Plod and finally another right turn for the short side of the rectangle.  And, of course, the long, straight path back to the next turn.

Along the way I had a few atta boys, from walkers and runners both.  Some small chit chat, but mostly quiet run.  In fact, I think I can honestly say it was a lonely run.  Not that my wife would have kept my pace even if we had started together.  She finds it hard to run that slow.  Anyway, this part of the race brought mixed feelings.  A walker had passed me with her friends and, when she thought I was out of range, asking aloud something to the effect of "why anyone who runs slower than the walkers even bothers."  I don't mind saying that that hurt.  I'd like to say that it empowered me to find the reserved strength to persevere and pass the loudmouth, putting her in her place.  But it didn't.  It was quite deflating.

But, I hasten to add, it was a very small part of the experience.

Finally, having finished the rectangle and approaching the hill (going down this time yay!), I enter the home stretch.  Two guys from my son's cross country team running their cool down (they came in 3rd and 4th) saw me and cheered like idiots.  That was very cool.

About a hundred or so yards from the finish, I decide to actually do something in the race and put my sights on a walker about halfway between me and the finish line.

She became my mortal enemy.

I was going to shame her.

So I picked up my pace (to where I would eventually like to be able to run a whole 5K at) and I passed her.  My dad, daughter and her friend from cross country were screaming.  I heard other people shouting my name.  I was breathing hard.  I was pumping my legs and arms.

And when I passed my mortal enemy, she turned her head, smiled and said "Go, go, go!" which is a really nice thing for a mortal enemy to do.

I crossed the finish line with a chip time of 47:26.  I was 406th out of, what I can determine, about 418 chipped runners.  So I beat my private goal of less than 50 minutes and beat my other private goal of not being DFL.  I met my other daughter right at the finish line and my wife just beyond.  My wife had a terrible run with back pain starting right from the git-go and it was obvious that she was suffering a bit.  But she had a great time too.

All in all, it was a good race.  But, like I said, it pales somewhat to where I've come from.  Last March I couldn't run more than 60 seconds at a time.  I ran as often as I could, resting when I was injured but always moving forward.  By June I was running a mile and a half.  By July two miles and more.  I ran a 5K in September.  All this work.  That is what I am most proud of.  This race, while I enjoyed it, just wasn't what I expected.  I *think* it's because I know, in the depths of my being, that this is just a side track.  It wasn't an end and it wasn't a real goal.  The work keeps going forward.

Finally, when its all said and done, I have an answer for the rude walker.

Why bother?

Because I am a runner.