The Clown

I ended up hopping in the local Cape Cod Athletic Club race today. My plan was to run 5:10 miles for 3 miles of the 4.5 mile race and then turn it on. I got in a 3 mile warm up and went to the line. I missed the instructions (*this will come into play later in the story) and bounded away as the announcer yelled "go". The weather was a balmy 55 degrees; unseasonably warm for Cape Cod in December. Joe Navas, Cape Cod's top runner, bolted to the lead and I tucked in behind him. I told him my plan pre-race and it seemed like he would work with me as long as he could (recovering from a cold). The pace felt slow but we hit mile 1 in 5:03. Damn, too fast. Not good. I am trying to train my legs to run at the pace I'd like. I would have preferred a slower start and wanted to ease into things. I started to push a little and began to gap Joe. The course had some undulating hills and the dirt road was littered with pot holes. I hit mile 2 right on pace in 10:14 (5:11 mile) and I began to feel good. Arrows ahead pointed to the left and so I sped off down the street...except that the instructions indicated we had to TURN AROUND at mile 2. The road I was on was now a main drag. Why would the race run down this street? There are no course marshalls or cops, this was simply a friendly race. Oh well. Press forward. I never saw the 3 mile marker (duh) and continued to hammer down the road. I looked behind and saw Joe so thought I was on course. Two hours later, when I hit Boston, I decided to stop. Well, actually it was only 24:00, but I knew I had run far too long. I circled back and caught Joe and together we pondered what might have gone wrong. We figured we'd simply loop back around and find our way back to the home where the race started. After 52 minutes and a series of bad directions Joe and I found our way in the back of a police cruiser. A cop had taken pity on two shivering pathetic souls. I had started to crash (lack of sugars) and I just wanted to get back in the warm house and eat some grub. While in the back of the cop car, I noticed the cop text-messaging his fellow cops on the cop computer:
"what are you doing hore (sic)?"
"who you calling hore, hore"
"you da hore!"
I rolled my eyes. I felt like McLovin from Superbad.

Officer Hore dropped us off about a half mile away from the house and Joe and I thanked him profusely for the ride. We lumbered up the road and back to the home. Search parties had returned empty handed, but no worries we were home! I crept inside and got made fun of by everyone who was there. I ushered them away and headed for the food table then proceeded to eat every piece of bad food available: BBQ chicken wings, Dunkin' Donuts munchkins, soda, Bush Lite, chips and more chicken wings.

You win some, you lose some. Today I was a clown.

PHOTO - generic picture of Brewster, MA...site of the race.