The returning runner

Let’s take a little diversion from our weekly how-tos to catch up a bit on a lesson learned from current events. Last week I gleefully mentioned on Facebook and LinkedIn my 3rd place in the US Masters Championships for 1,500 meters. A bit traumatic but the real story behind my 3rd in the 1,500 was my 5,000 meter disaster 3 days previous…

I was feeling good prepping for the 5,000. I had started the season in early April with a ho-hum 20:32 at the Carlsbad 5,000 but that came at end of 2 weeks of sleepless nights following my wife’s heart attack. Since then, I had raced a lot – every 1 to 2 weeks and racked up a string of top 5 finishes overall, 1st place in my age division in every race, and even a couple of overall victories. Unfortunately, none of the races provided a good measure of my conditioning for a fast 5k – almost all were on rugged courses and a couple were mis-measured. But, I felt very strong – much stronger than at Carlsbad. My strategy for the 5k in the US Masters Championships was pretty basic. I would run the first 2-1/4 miles at a pace targeting a 19:10-19:20 finishing time (a time faster than last year’s winner) and if I had “it”, I would surge the last ¾ mile to try to come in under 19 minutes (a time competitive at the World Championship level). There was just a little nagging issue. I had some gastric issue going on. I was farting amazing amounts. I was pretty sure that I could blow up a bounce house without much trouble. Oh well, wouldn’t be the first time a runner had farted in a race… Of a bit more concern was a disconcerting urgency to poop. I was pretty sure that I could make it through a 5k but not absolutely positive.

Race day was warm but not as hot as races I had run just a couple of weeks prior. I drank deeply before starting my warmup and sipped some more during. Just before final check-in (hipping – they give you a hip number), I opted for a last port-a-potty stop just to make sure. The port-a-potty was roasting. Sweat poured off me. Oh well, it was only a 5k. I would be ok for 19 or 20 minutes. We trotted off to the starting line but there was a problem. A computer malfunction delayed the start 30 minutes. We had to stay in the start area but could jog or do wind sprints to stay loose. I stopped sweating. I knew that wasn’t good, but they seemed so formal. My drink bottle was in the bleachers. Hmmm… I would be ok. It was only a 5k.

At the end of the first mile, I was locked in 2nd place a yard behind the leader Blake Wood. We were a matched pair of 6’+ runners churning along near target pace but already slowing. I wasn’t arguing – I didn’t have the normal zip. Clang! What was that? My foot had hit hard against the inside rail. I stumbled back into position. What a spaz. What was wrong with me? By 1-3/4 miles all thought of a 3-lap surge at the end was gone. Strategy now was just to hang on and see if I had anything left at the end. Oh well, it was the National Championships and I was having an off day but still in 2nd place -that’s not so bad. Clang! The inside rail again and stumbling clumsily again. At 2-1/4 miles Tom O’Reilly surged to the front. That was ok. He seemed to settle in at nearly the same pace. I could pass two runners as well as one. Approaching 2-1/2 miles something happened. Oh my gosh – my legs started to spasm. Could I slow down and salvage 3rd?  Twenty yards later – son of a nutcracker! I had to quit. Another 20 years and oh my gosh I couldn’t quit. I had lost all control of my legs. I couldn’t get off the track. I veered crazily back and forth in the first 3 lanes while continuing forward through no conscious volition of my own. Finally stumbling a last time over the inside rail and coming to a stop in an active long-jump runway. Tough. I couldn’t go anywhere. I was done. My head was down between my knees and I couldn’t see anything except a swirling gray. I heard my wife calling for medical help. Someone put an ice pack on my neck. It felt good. Any attempt to even lift my head to look around brought blackness. Funny how the mind could still think even while the body held unto consciousness by a mere thread. Finally, I could lift my head enough to get brief glimpses. Two young female medics flanked me on either side. A man brought a chair which I collapsed into. My wife was talking to my doctor daughter. It wasn’t hot enough to have heat exhaustion. I should be transported to a hospital. “No!” Emergency Rooms meant lengthy waits, an IV most probably, and almost assuredly an admonishment not to run in the 1500 three days later. I hadn’t had a heart attack. I didn’t think I had a stroke. Intuitively I felt that I had to have had a catastrophic dehydration and electrolyte imbalance issue. Things would be bad but I would gradually rehydrate and recover.

I developed a plan. I spied a gate about 20 yards away. I wanted to walk there. My medics chuckled and inquired; “Why? Then what’s the plan?”. I would stop there and then lean against the gate and recover sufficiently enough to walk the rest of the way to our car. Then I would lay the seat back. A few more chuckles but then agreement with the plan as long as I finished a Gatorade first. That made sense to me. I clearly needed fluids and electrolytes. I obliged and we started off toward the gate with my two medics hovering on either side. After 10 yards I threw up most of the Gatorade. Another rest, and then on to the gate. Arriving there, I threw up the rest of the Gatorade. My medics quipped that “it was part of the job and they had achieved sufficient dexterity to avoid getting any on their shoes”. There was a man there with a cart. He was ferrying shot-putters to their venue a few hundred yards away. He could give me a ride almost to our car. I thought maybe walking a bit more would be good for me, but I wasn’t very effective at arguing. Arriving at some bollards a dozen yards from our car, I staggered initially toward the wrong car but attempted to try to make it look like I knew where I was going as I swerved toward our car (after all, it was important to try to look cool – right that was gonna happen…). I laid the seat down in the car and started recovering… Oh, a week and a half later I was still having “gastric” symptoms. A Gastroenterologist confirmed my wife’s diagnosis - I had giardia which has listed symptoms of nausea, dehydration, fatigue, and electrolyte deficiency… So it goes…Next week I’ll cover the journey from collapse to placing in the 1500.

“In fact, the only thing that didn’t break was the brakes.” - Ford vs Ferrari, Carroll Shelby, 2019