I awoke this morning and donned my grey sweats. I fed my pet turtles (“Cuff” and “Link”) and cracked six eggs into a glass and drank them raw. I then proceeded to run through the streets of Philadelphia….
Okay…that was Rocky. Instead, I got up and started my quest to turn myself into a sprinter by getting up at 4:50 a.m.and heading to the YMCA…and swimming. I have been swimming off and on for the past couple of years. It is great cardio and low impact. The thing I like about swimming the most is that the water just makes you feel “good” when you are done.
So I got a half a mile in and headed home to a breakfast of wheat toast with peanut butter and tea.
(I promise not to bore you with benign details of what I eat every day!)
The water felt good on my shoulders and back which are still aching from my efforts on Saturday at the State Games.
Oh yeah… those. You probably are wondering how my races went. I’ll get to those.
I threw Shot Put and Discus two days ago and my body is not happy with me. Even though I was pretty good at track in High School, that was 30 years ago. My muscles, tendons, and joints remembered the routine all too well. Unfortunately, they remembered me throwing the boys High School weights of 12lbs in the Shot and 1.61K in the Discus. Until I turn 50, I have to throw 16lbs in the Shot and 2K in the Discus. It does not sound like a huge difference but it is. The Shot Put feels Like a Volkswagen, the Discus, a manhole cover.
I am pleased to say I repeated as a Silver medalist in the Discus and took Bronze in the Shot Put…
…but you weren’t really interest in those events.
My first race was the 100 meters. My son Sammy was also in this race, though a much earlier heat. He missed out on a medal by .04 of a second. He is 7 and was running against kids as old as 9. He will be back next year older and stronger and more determined. As I told my wife, Kimm “actually having track spikes next year will help too!” She looked at me the way wives often look at their husbands and asked “you’re going to buy the kid spikes so he can run one event in them?” Even though it sounded more like a statement than a question, I went ahead and responded “he can actually use them in 3 events!” I am taking her silent glare at me as a non-verbal form of consent.
But I digress…
I ran in a heat that actually had guys in “singlets”. A singlet is the cross between a unitard, compression shorts, and a tank top. I was going to ask the guys where they got them because I wanted one too, but I didn’t want to interrupt their springing around like frogs from Calaveras County. This was not going to be pretty. They used starting blocks. I stood there like I would ready to cover a kick in football or rugby. They had spikes. I had my running shoes. I felt every bit out of place as I was.
“On your marks…set….BANG!” As soon as I heard that shot, I knew that any chance of a respectable finish were gone. My legs felt like tree stumps. Why was I the only one running in a tar bed? I plodded my way down the track finishing dead last in my heat, my age bracket, and EVERY age bracket, including the 76 year old Don Lucha (amazing guy) for the day at 19.07 seconds.
They shoot horses that run like that.
I had time to kill before my last event the 50 meters. So I tried to stay hydrated and stretch but had to run around getting my boys to their other events while carrying my bag and shot puts and discs and what all… The events were the easy part of the day! The 50 meters was the third to last event so there was time to wait. The waiting is what kills you. I wish I could have walked to the starting line and done my 50 and called it good. No…you have to wait…and wait…and wait… Meanwhile your body tightens up and you need to try to get warmed back up.
The 50 was horrible. It was “New Coke”. It was “Ishtar”. It was Roseanne Barr singing the National Anthem.
Again, when the gun when off I felt like a School Bus trying to get up to speed on the highway. The other runners were very nice. We all congratulated each other for finishing without falling down or tearing any major muscles. Afterwards, Sam and I waited on the infield to see how he finished in the 200 meters when an announcement came over the loudspeaker. I had actually taken bronze in the 50 meters. Apparently, there were only three competitors in my age group. Sam was so excited for me he started dancing around. I was so sore all I wanted was a congratulatory gin and tonic and a hot tub. I would get neither...
We gathered up our awards and headed home. My youngest, Sam won 2 bronze (Long Jump and 200M) my oldest, Max, took 2 bronze (Bowling and Discus) and a silver (Shot put). A pretty good showing for the day all around.
On the way out, several people came up and congratulated me on my efforts. “I saw you running today…great job!” they would say. My boys thought it was “cool” Dad was getting recognized. Like I was some sort of rock star. In a way though, each pat on the back struck the nerve that initially made me do this. It was embarrassing. Although these people were genuinely trying to be kind, I felt I was being condescended to. I could feel a bit of anger building. It was then I heard a voice call out “John!” It was Don Lucha. A 76 year old competitor who ran several events that day. He would have actually beaten me heads up in the 100 if we were in the same heat. We had chatted while on the infield waiting for our events. He is an amazing person. He is a widow who has 4 daughters that he spends as much time with as possible. He said “Good job today.” I said “Thank you, sir! I just wished I could have run a little faster!” He looked at me and said “You were a great example to those boys today. They’ll remember this”. This caught me off guard and I choked up a bit. I covered up by nodding in agreement.
He continued on his way with a wave and asked “See you next year?”
“Absolutely!”
By the way…tonight Kimm and I start yoga.
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