Serving Clovis, Portales and the Surrounding Communities
The rumors of my death are, on further review, greatly exaggerated.
Perhaps it was my fault that people believed I had died, as I wrote a death notice for myself to start last week’s column. Even though it was in the opinion section, and my date of death was three days after the publication date, I had to convince a few readers I had not died but imagined the fate of my first 5K race on Saturday.
It took me only seconds to convince people I was not dying. It took me 37:58 to convince people I wasn’t a runner. That was my time in the Zeta Tau Alpha third annual 5K Run ... or, as I called it, “Here’s my $20 for breast cancer awareness, and my dignity will be somewhere on the track for you to pick up.”
It was a strange experience. There were people there who ... sorry, this is hard for me ... enjoyed running. They were talking about the next 5K they were doing, or showing me custom shirts and bracelets for their running. They were looking forward to this, and I was hoping their enthusiasm was somehow tied to a secret Coldstone Creamery along the racepath.
I was in front of the pack, and it was an exhilirating feeling. But the anti-Kevin organizers had it in for me from the start. They claimed every runner had to start the race behind the “start” line. I never led again.
You may remember that last week, I described a mild leg injury I suffered during training. The leg remembered, and came back with a vengeance less than a quarter of the way into my run. From then on, Saturday was walking, with just enough running to stay ahead of the untimed walkers.
I wasn’t sure what the most embarrassing part of my “run” was. Maybe it was that halfway through, I decided to make myself useful and picked up the water cups people had thrown on the road (yes ladies, this man helps with housework — contact information below). Maybe it was that some of the professional runners had decided to go for a second run through the course while I was still in the home stretch. But I think the worst was that there were people driving home while I was still running. And because it was Portales, and nowhere is too far away, I’m convinced at least one person got home before I got to the finish line.
I crossed the finish line, and the crowd that hadn’t driven home high-fived me like I had won. Even though I had decidedly not, and even though the fight against breast cancer is far from over.
I took my racing number, and wrote, “37:58” with a Sharpie, and spent Sunday shopping for better running shoes. On the next 5K — and there will be a next 5K — I plan on marking a time under 30 minutes on the racing number.
I still don’t enjoy running, that’s for sure. But I enjoy failing even less. I’ll keep donating to charity and sacrificing my dignity until I run my perfect 5K.
Or, at least, until I find a 5K with a Coldstone on the path.
Kevin Wilson is a columnist for Freedom New Mexico. He can be contacted at 763-3431, ext. 313, or by e-mail: [email protected]