#backofthepack

May 2022

I was planning to write about one of my favorite running subjects, which is of course BLING, and I will next time, but I was distracted by something I read in an online running group. 

The person was venting about her back-of-the-pack experience. She prefaced she wasn’t looking for sympathy; just venting about what it felt like when the race basically shut down before she finished. She didn’t say what her time was or if there was a posted time limit, but what she experienced was:

Water stations shut down;

Post race water & snacks gone;

No finish line picture; photographer had left; and

No one at the finish line to cheer when she crossed. 

She stated even though she runs for herself, the excitement and atmosphere of a race is a great incentive to push herself, but unfortunately, this experience left her feeling just the opposite. 

Many of the other members of the group, including myself, have experienced the same thing. It’s not a good feeling. I understand how long it takes for some of us to finish a race and I feel bad for the really fast runners who have to wait on all us back-of-the-packers to finish before the awards ceremony begins. Sorry about that folks. Thanks for waiting on us and know that we really want to get faster!

Thank you to the good racing companies like Five Star and the volunteers & staff who stay till the end so that we can have the full experience and not feel like an after-thought. Thanks also to the others runners who hang around the finish line to cheer us when we finally cross, even if (and especially if) you don’t know us. You have no idea how great that feels!

Happy Running!

I struggled to write this. Not because of lack of memories, but for the pure abundance of such great ones. 

Running is one of those things that has brought me the most amazing people. People that have survived through some horrible life events, trials and tribulations but still show up to coach, volunteer at a water stop, be cheerleaders and run. 

For those of you that did not get the pleasure of meeting Cindy, just know that she was a sweet lady that had a fierce determination to not let a diagnosis define her. She was a coach, dispenser of some quality nuggets of advice, professional project manager with a solid tech background and champion of the back of the pack and advocate of just being out on the streets for no matter how short or long. 

When I think about the runs, the races, the laughs and conversations, all I can think is that I am so lucky to have met Cindy for so many reasons. I had the honor for a couple seasons to see her resilience up close. Finding out at her funeral that most of the time she was fighting stage four cancer only made my respect for her resolve even stronger. What a fighter! 

In my memory, a couple races hold some of my favorite memories: 

Running Historic Half, we found a new runner (Nora) that had never run a race before and she was not having a great time. Nora was so worried there would not be medals left. If you have ever been in the back of the pack, you know that this can be a risk. Immediately, Cindy would not let Nora believe they wouldn't have enough. We even reassured her that if they ran our we would run ahead and make sure she would have one of ours. Cindy and I adopted her around mile seven and kept talking her moving for a bit. When we finished, we looked back, gathered the rest of the Richmond contingent to cheer for her as she came in. In my mind, that race is a PR in Being Positive and Running for someone other than yourself. I have no clue what my time was that day, and sure I could dig it up but that wasn’t and still isn’t important. 

Training for an running the Philadelphia Love Run was a really great training season, thanks to Cindy. Normally, she didn’t run on Sundays as she was an active member of her church. However, she came out on a handful of Sundays so that I would have a buddy. We were both a wee bit concerned with the time limit for Love Run. She was trying different treatments for her condition and I was coming off of a marathon. 

On race day, Cindy was more than ready. If anything, I felt like I was the anchor towards the end. I don’t remember what we were talking about but when I think of that day, I have a wash of good feelings come over me. We beat the time limit, we weren’t last ( not that we even cared about that) and we were cheered on by all of our Richmond buddies as we were passed along the course. For the last two miles, I pretty much had Cindy as the rabbit to get to the finish. Her husband Stan, came out to get me across the finish. 

I could write book about the races, the runs, the brunches and all the good feelings I have about our friendship. It’s hard to accept she is gone and that I won’t get another chat about tech and project management or that we won’t get to run past Controversy Corner together or that we wont get another brunch. But there is a sticky sweetness in when you pass a dog on the run and I remember Cindy saying “ We greet all dogs and most people!” or remembering her phrase of “We always run the bridges” or just the wash of good feelings on any given Saturday morning as we roll into City Stadium. 

As a "back of the pack" runner, I am very conscious of others watching me as I run.  I don't think anyone is making fun of me, BUT I do think people judge me.  Firstly, because I'm overweight.  And, secondly, because I'm S.L.O.W.

I like to think that I am "uplifting" other runners who I make look good by my slow running (and their faster running).  

As long as the weather conditions are “perfect" (not too hot, not too cold, not wet), I love to run outside despite the voices in my head making up stories about how others are judging me!  But, I usually end up running on the treadmill in my basement because it's a more controlled environment: perfect temp, always dry, I can listen to music or watch TV while I run.

The Last 600

As is typical of a back of packer, I rock the end lane at swim squads. While this might seem like something that shouldn’t be mentioned at triathlon club drinks, the end lane has its perks….and its challenges.

Perks: 

·       You get more attention from the coaches…mostly because they may or may not be liable if you drown. But the only way to get better is to hear your Russian swim coach scream “ELBOWS!” every breath you take… one day it will sink in…hopefully before you do. 

·       Everyone is courteous and friendly…. A typical conversation in the bottom lane:”You can go.” “Oh no no…you’re quicker than me. You go.”

·       When you are feeling particularly strong one morning and lead your lane…or in my case not bringing up the rear…you can play this song in your head: Drake - Started from the bottom .

·       If you happen to know flip turns you’re the star of your lane.

Challenges:

·       Don’t be a big fish in a small lane. It is easy to settle into your lane but don’t get too comfortable. 

·       Don’t get down on yourself. It’s hard not to be discouraged when you’re paddling away at the back of the slow lane. Just remember you’re up early, you’re doing something great for you, and YOU ARE leagues ahead of everyone who is still in bed. 

·       Finally, the last 600…or any other distance that is set as cool down. It can be easy to get a bit lazy in the end lane. You typically don’t end up getting through the same distance as the faster lanes. But the only way to move up is to push through those seemingly mundane laps. Personally, I fall into the trap of “I don’t have enough time for the cool down. I’m behind anyway.” But the beautiful thing about swimming is that last 600 shouldn’t take you longer than 12 minutes. 

I participated in the Crossfit Hercules  Battle of the Sexes event today. I should tell you that I'm a scaled level athlete, and I was participating with some serious RX big dogs. I was hoping that the adjustment for body weight would help me out, but I figured out pretty quickly that it wasn't going to help me much.

I had a little trouble figuring out the mechanics of the first event (farmers walk), and the one event that I thought I could make some noise in, ended up being a last place.  After that event ended, I looked at the standings and saw that I had come in eighth out of ten competitors. I got pretty excited-I wasn't in last place! And then, someone pointed out that the two competitors who were behind me had not shown up. 

Talk about a buzzkill. I knew I was mostly outclassed, but still, no one wants to finish last. I have no illusions about my abilities, but I still have my pride, for myself, and for my box. No one wants to embarrass themselves, and I began to wonder if my reach had exceeded my grasp.

Then, I got myself psyched up for the atlas stone. This task involved lifting a 73 pound cement ball from the ground to the top of my shoulder...EIGHTEEN TIMES in a five minute cap. I had practiced with the stone briefly with my amazing coaches earlier in the week, and got it up twice, but failed a bunch of times. When I arrived at the event today, I practiced a little bit, but couldn't get it up.

I was so so nervous about it, I seriously was almost crying when I thought about it.  Really, I went through most of the Kubler-Ross stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance).  I  had to complete the task, or at least attempt it.

So I went out, and told hubs that he couldn't watch (or at least he couldn't watch where from where I could see him). I told the judge that my goal was to simply participate and do my best, as anything more than two successful lifts would be a PR for me, and any encouragement or advice would be welcome.

After an initial failure, I got it up once, then twice, and (with a few missed lifts interspersed), got a third. I told myself not to quit, maybe I could make it to five, and wouldn't that be amazing? I could hear Coaches Tim and Greg in my ear, I could remember Kristen's encouraging words, and I told myself not to let them down, and not to sell myself short. I kept pushing.

By this time, some folks had begun to gather. My judge and some fellow competitors started giving me encouragement and support, so I took a breath, and got to five successful lifts. In my head, I wasn't sure what to do-I had already crushed my expectations, and even my most ambitious goals. Most of my preparations consisted of thinking about how awful it would be if I had to take a zero, so I was definitely not ready for the problem of what to do when I had accomplished so much more than I thought was possible.  I had a little bit more time on the clock, and my judge told me to try for ten. With about 20 seconds left, I had hit eight, and as time ran out, with people around me screaming at me to keep pushing, I hit number ten even as I was telling myself that I was tired and there was no way I'd get it up again so soon after completing the previous lift.

I can't even tell you what it felt like. Some of my friends completed their version of this workout in screaming fast times (we joked that it looked like they were lifting a beach ball), and I swear they couldn't possibly be prouder than I felt of my ten lifts. I felt like crying then, and I'm tearing up just writing about this personal victory.

That event was the perfect example of why I compete in events where I know I have no shot of hitting the podium, and may be the worst by a lot.  I thought I knew what I could and couldn't do already, but I figured that since I was there I might as well try. I put my pride to the side, asked for help, and gave my all, knowing that I still might fail.

Before walking into that event, I would have confidently told you that I can't lift a 73# stone to my shoulder. Now I know I can do it multiple times. Now I WANT to try it again, because I know more now than I did then about how possible it is for me.

I've talked before about the view from the back of the pack, and I feel compelled to write again, from the view of a competitor. In my former life as a trail runner, all kinds of people showed up for races. Some came to try to win, others, like me, came just for the fun of being out there.  In Crossfit, this doesn't seem to happen very much. People go to their boxes to work out, and then come to events to cheer on their firebreathers. I heard a couple of spectators comment on how they could never do what they saw competitors doing.  But they could. We all could, in our own ways, of course.

I want to invite all of us from the middle and back of the pack to consider coming out to competitions as participants. If you're not ready to enter RX divisions, consider a team, masters, or scaled division. You may sometimes feel jealous or embarrassed, but you may also feel astounded by your own achievements, and thrilled by watching yourself explode through your perceived limitations.