Standing in front of the mirror, I wonder who this person is looking back at me. It's not the baby faced, good-looking, devilishly handsome, young man (most if not all of that is made up) who used to stare back at me. Instead, he looks like an ungroomed monster. Who let this animal in? The beard is so scruffy and unkept, not to mention big patches of grey, he looks mean and old.
Tradition says it's time to shave, it's the day before a race. Last chance to gain that psychological speed advantage of less wind resistance. Tomorrow's race is end of an era though. Almost five years ago it started, tomorrow will be most likely my last race in this age group. Hate aging and refuse to do it, yet the mirror is clearly telling me it's happening. Well, I've got news for Mr. Mirror, looks are deceiving. Placing the razor down, let us see what this grey beard is capable of.
Even though in my world, the story is about the beard, it's the same story it always is in the real world, my shorts. Within minutes of getting to the event, I'm already greeted to a story of making it into conversation from somebody seeing a guy running around town in shorts in the winter and them knowing it was me. Before long, there's excitement telling me about seeing a couple other people also wearing shorts, almost as if testing me if I care or am worried that my title was somehow in jeopardy. I'm fine, I've got other things on my mind, I mean face.
This past week has been a struggle. For no real reason, I want to see how many months I can go over a hundred miles in a row. Most months, it's never a real concern, easily eclipsing the century mark for miles. With the early bad weather of the month, the Vegas trip, and February being a short month anyway, this streak came dangerously close to ending. To prevent it from happening, I had to run more miles than I normally would going into a race that I had specific goals for. My legs felt a lot like rubber and had a feeling I probably really hurt my chances for the 1:36 - 1:37 time I wanted for myself. Probably, something I'd regret, but didn't want the streak to end this way either, at least it safely continues.
What sound does a razor make? Scraaaaaaape, goes the starting gun. The first mile, didn't have a feeling if "it" was there or not. Legs didn't feel as dead as they did towards the end of this week, but they also didn't feel fresh and itching to go, until. On purpose I started behind the 1:40 pace group. That's my make or break number to determine if it's a good half marathon for myself or a bad one. Then I saw it, until, a pair of bare legs were running with that group. This is still a story about a beard, but seeing another pair of shorts awakened, the monster under the beard. This isn't happening, pace quickens and soon surge past the 1:40 group. As if it were a sign soon after passing a voice from the crowd comes out "first guy in shorts!". Humble, baby face would never have responded, but the monster came back with "not only the first in shorts, but he'll be finishing first in shorts as well". The monster, has some confidence. Time to see if the monster can back it up.
Mile two I'm not only keeping pace with some people who I consider very fast, but I'm gaining. Mile three, I can't be sure, but I think up ahead is one person who I really wanted to beat coming into this race. It's a little shocking that he's up here, especially when I'm clocking seven minute miles, maybe he's faster than I thought, his breathing though tells he's going beyond his means. By mile four, he's now behind me, the beard, and the monster as well.
Mile five, here's the real world again, a volunteer shouts "Does your mom know you are running in shorts?". I can't help by smile on my way by and reply with "Yes, and she yells at me all the time". This is one time though, I can't help but laugh to myself knowing if mom were here, while she'd not approve the the shorts, she'd hate the monster more, I mean the beard.
Miles six to ten are the straightest, easy to see who's ahead. While I knew I was running fast, it felt relaxed, but I wasn't constantly checking my watch to really know how I was doing. Told myself to conserve some here and save something for the last three miles if I needed it. Then it happened, my first problem, an untied shoe. Ugh, anytime in the past once I stop the wheels come off and it is unavoidable, I'd have to stop and tie this shoe. Of course the girl who I just passed, passed me as I stopped. Starting back up, my pace didn't seem as fluid as it was before, but soon caught and passed her again. In the distance, I can see three more runners, one of which is fast, also in my age group, ugh.
By mile ten, the distance gap had closed, but it wasn't happening fast and I could also feel the signs of beginning to get tired. Thinking back to the first time I ran this race, these were the miles I turned the jets on. Today, the afterburner was used in the early miles and it was going to be coasting to the finish. Why did I keep this wind resistance beard again? It seemed like we were going at the same pace, yet watching the line my next target was taking, I was gaining ground every turn as he took bad angles. The beard may suck for drag it causes, but there is wisdom in it. With about a mile to go, all three were passed and just like the first year that I ran this race, nobody was left, only monster, beard, and I.
It wasn't until the final stretch that I glanced at my watch. My PR sits at 1:33 and while my watch read 1:33 with a few hundred feet to go, I knew wasn't going to get my PR, but still much better than the 1:36 - 1:37 I wanted. While it was damn close to that PR, I was far from dead like when I got that PR and I didn't have anywhere near the amount of facial drag that I did for this race. Had I known it was within reach, not sure I would have been able to replace it, but kind of wish I had paid closer attention to how close I was. Oh well, still happy about my time. My time wasn't good enough to place, but this goes down my first race where not a single person passed me. That has always been a minor goal, came close a few times, but somebody has always been able to get by me, not today. Did they fear the beard? The monster? Or did I simply never take my foot off the gas? It was probably fear of the mean guy in the beard.
Will the new age group start a new tradition of running with a beard? It's more fun to wonder what if, had I shaved, would I have been a hair faster (CT's dad's favorite pun)? Or was it the monster behind the beard? Either way, whatever that mirror sees, I'm here to say the person in it is still getting faster, probably one grey hair at a time.
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