5 at 50 Part V: Meters Matter

Tales of a made mile and a missed 10k

A mile is 1,609 meters—four laps of a track, plus a little extra. I know this, because it was important to get it right for my self-directed time trial a couple weekends ago. “Find the start/finish line,” several online sources said, “Walk back nine steps and you should see another line. This is where you begin the mile.”

If only the course for the following weekend’s 10k had been as precisely measured, I wouldn’t be writing this journal from a place of letdown. Instead, because that race wrapped up at 9,750 meters (250 short, if you’re keeping score at home), I’m measuring my words to keep sourness from spilling onto the page.

In each of these PR attempts—mile and 10k—there were things that didn’t go to plan. So, why was I able to smile through one, while the other has me spun?

The Mile

Thing that didn’t go to plan #1… You’ll recall (won’t you?), the Yakima Mile was to be the site of my mile PR attempt. A week before, I took a spectacular tumble on the trails and banged up my knee. Yakima thusly scrubbed, I made plans for a solo effort, at the track where I’d run my previous best thirty-five (or so) years ago.

It was already sixty degrees outside when my alarm buzzed at six o’clock on Saturday, August third. With a predicted high in the nineties, getting the time trial done early would be important.

Race mornings follow a predictable arc in our house. I spend forty-five minutes in our little home gym waking up creaky muscles and joints. At some point, Lisa will burst in, half-asleep and with wild bed head, and ask in cheerful sing-song if I’m excited. On this Saturday, I was very excited.

For the requisite pre-race, erm, “movement” I keep an old book (Running and Being, first edition) at the ready. You know about the Mariko Aoki phenomenon, yes? Nose pressed to yellowed pages, a deep inhale, the matter was settled. I jogged the two miles to the track, where Lisa would meet me.

Thing that didn’t go to plan #2… At the track, dozens of kids from the local college were warming up for what we learned was a fall sports fitness test. We sat on a park bench to watch. First the girls: two miles, thirty minutes. The morning air was warming fast. Nobody’s ever at this stadium. Why today? The boys now: two miles, thirty minutes. Wildfire smoke blew in and settled heavy.

The test wound down. We moved toward the bleachers to get closer to the start line.

Thing that didn’t go to plan #3… Underneath said bleachers, hot and drought-weary hornets had been constructing a large nest. I stomped the aluminum steps and immediately felt a sharp sting on my lower leg. In full-throated glory, I shouted the most notorious of expletives—not at the straggling college kids passing by on their final lap—but in their general direction.

Track finally clear, inflammation waning, I lined up and hit the gas.

Homespun Hometown Mile Trial
August 3, 2024
Previous PR (1,600 meters), 1989 or ‘90: 5:30-ish
New PR (1,609 meters), 2024: 5:29

Take that, old versions of me…

running.lightly

A post shared by @running.lightly

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The 10k

Thing that didn’t go to plan #1... The Smelter City Scamper wasn’t my first, or even second choice for a 10k PR attempt. But life, as they say. And once it became clear that choices one and two were out, I started to get excited.

Anaconda is a scrappy city with a hardscrabble mining history and gritty comeback story—much like my hometown and current home of Helena. I pinged a local on Strava about the course (flat), reviewed my recent training (barely adequate), and time to prepare (not much), then made a training plan (aggressive).

Race day arrived and you know the ritual: Warmup, wild hair, old book, let’s get it on.

We drove the ninety minutes between crusty mining towns and arrived early enough to park fifty yards from the start. At the gun, I blew a kiss to my best girl and settled into second place and a comfortably quick pace.

Thing that didn’t go to plan #2… There’s a hard right turn onto a covered bridge around mile two. Missed that. And why did my watch read one-point-eight? No time to worry about it.

Thing that didn’t go to plan #3… Intersection at mile three. I asked the volunteer which way and she asked back, “5k or 10k?” Ten. “I, uh… You go this way, I think.” Hmm, fifty-fifty shot. Turns out, it was a good guess, but not knowing for sure threw me off my game.

Thing that didn’t go to plan #4… Mile four. The course doubled back on itself and I forgot it did that. Plus, the distance showing on my watch was getting further and further from the posted mile markers. I mentally bonked. My pace plummeted.

Thing that didn’t go to plan #5… I’d just recovered race pace when I missed another turn (unmarked and unmanned). Gah! Realizing my mistake, I turned just in time to see third place pass by. I was defeated, but still somehow moving well.

In the final mile, I scraped my motivation off the asphalt and gave a good effort, though it was clear the course would be very short. In retrospect, I should have kept going through the finish, done the last quarter-mile on my own, and taken the PR that was just within reach.

Smelter City Scamper (almost-but-not-quite) 10k
August 10, 2024
Place: 3/66 (1st age)
37:03 (6:12 pace, but coming down)
PR, 2013: 38:24 (6:11 pace)

The Finish Line

I’m in the middle of a week-long “off season" now, which I do a couple times a year. It’s been a good rest. With a little hindsight, I think I know why the short 10k was so upsetting—and it did send me into a tailspin for a few days.

I was afraid. Afraid that was my last shot.

5 at 50 is putting me face to face with aging and the realization that I won’t keep getting faster forever. Someday, the see-saw will pause, then begin tilting the other direction. I will see this slowing, feel it.

So, I watch for it. Guarded.

The inevitable slowdown is part of the arrangement, of course. That’s why lean we toward comfort—so life feels safer. Big goals show us our fear, every “what if” that was or might be. If we’re not watchful, it can take us out of the present moment. Afraid, even, of possibility.

Anyway, I’m doing better (thanks for asking).

I am super-glad I didn’t send the good folks at the Smelter City Scamper a link to one of those big-wheel-measurement-thingies. They did the best they could. We’re all in this for the love, and running is a long game. A lifetime game.

It’s in the name... I need to remember hold the whole thing a little less tightly.

Run lightly,
-mike

I’m attempting to PR five distances—from the marathon to the mile—at 50 years old.
Read more from the series: 5 at 50