No, I’m not calling myself a badass. Badissi is one of the ‘uncommon’ Latin translations of the verb “run” or “ran”.
As in: Vini. Vidi. Vici?
Only instead of “I came. I saw. I conquered.” it’s “I came. I saw. I ran.”
But not ‘away’. I did not run away. Either with or from anything. I just ran.
Saturday was another race under my belt.
I finished 257th out of 291 and dead last in my age group.
And yes, I know, I know, I know what you’re itching to tell me.
I know all the platitudes about how many miles I was ahead of the people on the couches and that hey at least I did it and that it doesn’t matter if you finish last as long as you finish and all the other pablum we spew at late/last finishers when we’re working Finish Lines and as Course Monitors.
The truth is that none of that means a hill of beans until we are saying it to ourselves.
And meaning it.
Which I don’t just quite yet.
But back to Saturday’s race . . .
Truth be told I had no business running a 10K Saturday.
I hadn’t run in over ten days and that last run had been only two miles.
After some discussion with Tonia – my running buddy/mentor/yoga nazi – and HCRP I settled on a plan: Run the first three miles, walk miles four and five, run the last 1.2 miles. And at all costs to myself and others: Finish. Running!
HCRP stayed with me the first couple miles to make sure I wasn’t going to have any dizzy spells (I didn’t). I ran my 5:2 intervals the first 3 miles then slowed to a brisk walking pace.
Walking mile 3 to mile 4 wasn’t bad.
Oh don’t get me wrong, the more people who passed me the higher my “I don’t want to finish last” anxiety crept, but I kept it at bay with a mantra of “Plan the run – run the plan!” and reminders of last year’s two month ‘break’ courtesy of Runner’s Knee courtesy of adding too many miles too quickly.
Walking mile 4 to mile 5 . . .
I kept looking over my shoulder to be certain there was someone behind me that wasn’t the “Bringing Up The Rear” Police escort or (even worse) the Running Club’s truck picking up the cones that marked the course.
And somewhere between the mile 4 marker and the (I am certain someone moved it) mile 5 marker the following conversation took place in my head.
Bad Voice: This sucks! This is stupid. Just start running.
Good Voice: No. Plan the run – run the plan.
BV: Bullsh*t! Look! Everyone is passing you! The Tutu Girls have pasesd you!
GV: So? We’ll pass them back once we start running at 5.
BV: There is no ’5′. They forgot to put the marker out.
GV: No they didn’t!
BV: Someone moved it. We have gone way further than a mile since we saw ’4′.
GV: No we haven’t. I don’t think. Let me check Endomondo.
(Checks phone which is inconclusive since I was using the interval training program and not the straight run tracker.)
GV: It wasn’t moved.
BV: You have no business being out here. You are completely undertrained for this. You’re making a fool of yourself!
GV: Hey! I’m out here aren’t I?! Besides between being sick and surgery recovery I was out of commission for training for ten weeks!
BV: And what about the last two weeks?! What about those? People run DRUNK! You could have run with a few little dizzy spells.
GV: Hey! Everyone I talked to said running with that dizzy thing going on was ill-advised at best.
BV: How much further?
GV: I don’t know!
BV: You suck at this running thing. You are inconsistent at best and you really think you can train for a marathon with your track record?! Track record! I crack me up!
GV: Shut up.
This went on for quite some time until, mercifully, the Mile 5 marker did show up and I switched from the audiobook I was (mostly) listening to back to my running playlist, hit ‘shuffle’, and Gwen Stefani came roaring to the rescue of my attitude.
Do you know how impossible it is to beat yourself up with Hollaback Girl rockin’ in your brain? Now that I think of it, Good Voice sounds an awful lot like Gwen!
So I finished the race.
I finished it running.
I wasn’t last.
There was neither a Police car nor the cone truck behind me either.
There were 34 other actual human people behind me.
Including The Tutu Girls.
For some reason early on in the run I’d seen the two girls wearing net tutus and decided as long as I was ahead of them (they didn’t look to be very experienced runners) I was doing good.
We all do that.
We find the Other Runner we pace ourselves by. Sometimes from in front and other times from behind.
And with having run a grand total of only sixteen miles since January 14th my time (6.2 in 1:20:52) was actually pretty respectable.
So maybe I am a little bit of a badass after all.
I badissied the b-a-n-a-n-a-s out of that race!