The finish line

Of all the moments of my first 5K, I will probably never forget how I felt in that last quarter mile. How my right calf really started to tighten up and how I wondered how much longer I have to run.

I saw the last flag man wave me down to make a right turn. In the distance, I could see my goal - the parking lot of my church, where a crowd was gathered and a bright finish line archway, its silver flags fluttering in the wind. Finish strong, I thought. That is the goal, ultimately. To finish, yes, but to finish, running at a good pace.

As I approached, I heard the crowd, happy greeters cheering me those last steps and my family waiting for me, taking one last picture of me as I came in.

I DID IT!

In the end, I did my 5K in an official time of 40:34, which is better than any time I had achieved during February. And it had become my unofficial target, so I felt like I reached my goal.

Getting there was tougher than I had realized. The morning run was challenging some mornings, but I stuck it out, even when it was 40 degrees. The aches and pains concerned me, but I took care of them as best I could. Realizing that I am more out of shape than I care to admit, that may have been the hardest part.

But it was overall, thrilling. I had butterflies in my stomach as I drove in. I couldn't believe the size of the crowd - 200 runners and at least another 50 walkers and dozens of volunteers and family. I found all the steps in the process fun - getting my running number, pinning that on, and getting my little timing chip (which is this little marker that you put on your shoes so that you can get an official time.)
The actual start was a bit of a let down. I didn't feel a mad adrenaline rush, or at least I thought. It was just a big crowd that slowly started to move across the start line and I was with a bunch of walkers so they didn't really get a big start.

My opening split was decent - 11 minutes for my first mile. But I had been struggling with a serious foot pain, so it took a while for me to feel comfortable. I might have just rushed that first mile.
Second mile, I walked a lot more, but mentally, I didn't want to waste myself until the last mile.

But it went well. I finished and though I'm limping still, I have no regrets about how I did. I only wished I could have had a better time.
Which is why, I'm already thinking -- what will be my next race?