Winning a Race

Just once before time's cruel sense of humor recudes me to brisk walking with a stick and prune-loading, I'd like to experience the heady exhilaration of winning a race. I've always found the word "never" extremely depressing, but it is painfully appropriate when the question of this event is posed. My chances are about as good as Momar Khadafi's winning the Nobel Peace Prize or Farrah Fawcett becoming a member of Mensa.

As with the majority of mediocre runners, I console myself by concentrating on less spectacular, but more realistic goals; such as setting a PR or breaking a specific time.

A more competitive but sometimes psychological crushing mind game we run of the mill runners play, is that of familiarizing ourselves with other runners who appear to have race times comparable to ours and then competing (incognito usually) with them. This will increase one's chance of success. However, in my case so far this fall, not only have these runners been beating me (I don't even see them at the finish line), but a few of the others who always finished far behind me are defeating me by demoralizing margins.

Quite frankly, I am not beginning to feel some desperation mixed with my anxiety. I am no longer able to rely on the aforementioned rationalistic goals to prop up my teetering ego, and as a last resort, my psychic defense mechanisms have called upon fantasy to forestall my spending the holidays at Southern Pines.

My initial fantasies used two approaches to accomplish my objective of becoming a winner: the first though base trickery and deceit and the second through groveling and self-degradation. With the former, I would either try to prevent the better runners from participating in the race or reduce their effectiveness. In the first plan, I considered disguising my voice as Cedric's and calling them the night prior to a race, to say that the site had been moved because of some unfortunate circumstance. I.E., Better Runner: "The Cooper River Bridge is going to be run across the New Ashley River Bridge?"

Me, disguising my voice as Cedric's: "Yeah, a last minute safety check determined that it was hypothetically possible for the bridge to collapse if 5,000 or more runners happened to run in unison for at least four seconds. The start is at the Ashley Plaza Mall."
The other fantasy was throwing a free beer bust and laxative laced Texas Chili party for CRC members the night before the race. I would, of course, abstain.

In brief, I began to imagine a fantasy which involved my presenting my case to the other CRC members and officers at a regular meeting:

"My fellow club members. I am 44 years old. I've never placed higher than fifth place in a race (a very depleted age group). I run 20 to 25 miles per week – seven to six minute miles at the very best. I've got a bad back and a starting to recede hairline. Who knows how much longer I can run at all, much less win a race. I've got a working wife who cares and knows nothing about running, a 13 year-old son who has chosen to be functionally deaf rather than remove his walkman head phones, an overweight wimpish Collie, and two cars that have the automotive equivalent of AIDS. I'm not asking for money, fame, a better job, or a fresh start; and I'm not even prostituting these multiple deficiencies as Rodney Dangerfield does."

"All I want is to win just one single race. You don't even have to speak to me after the race, or ever again. I just want to feel that one brief moment of victory (who cares if it's hollow?). Then I'll gladly return to the bland anonymity of my mediocre runner's life, and you'll never hear from me again. I won't even write my stupid articles anymore. Whattya say?"

Returning to reality, I guess I could really start a vigorous training program with increased mileage, a proper diet, strength exercises and speedwork. But that's a lot of trouble, and for what—maybe I'd come in fourth. I think my only shot is to show up at the next CRC meeting and simply throw myself at the mercy of my fellow runners (play out my fantasy). It's 50-50 and that's a lot better than my current odds. Either I'll lose a little (more) self-respect, or I'll get my chance to win a race. By God, it's worth it!