After a weekend of disappointment, I was keen to run the Harry Rosen 8k Spring Run-off.
I haven't exactly been training.
I mean, I've been running. a 4k here. A 6k there. All leisurely. None by the book.
That said, I was fairly confident that I could eke out an 8k with relative ease and feel great for getting that distance back under my belt again.
The day was .... WOW. What a day.
Blue sky.
Glassy ocean.
Slight breeze.
A Vancouver spring at it's very finest.
Better yet, the race was around the Stanley Park seawall, which mean mountain views, ocean vistas, and a cool salty sea breeze.
I met M at the start line among 1200 other eager runners.
I love the buzz of a race. Everyone with their routine. Some running. Some jogging. Some pacing. Some sitting. Some singing. Some laughing nervously. Lots peeing. Some still.
Aiming for a "leisurely pace" and no record-setting, M and I planted ourselves 3/4 way back in the back.
The gun went off, and our mob descended on Stanley Park.
Our pace was quick and slightly uncomfortable for the first 2k.
"This pace good?" M asked huffing and clearly stressed.
"Oh yah. Fine," I said totally lying.
We kept it up for another 4 k and then scaled back to really enjoy our time, the breeze, the sunshine, and the race.
I started to pay attention to things: like how the sun caught my eye every 6 steps and a little tear formed, like how M and I had an identical stride for the last 3 k. Total harmonious running. Like how one 60+ runner in a blue shirt and grey joggers totally kicked our asses and I felt bad for judging a book by it's cover. That little firecracker could run!
The kilometer signs came and went. 4k. 5k. 6k.
When we saw 7, we high-fived.
M said: "hey, wanna do a 1k run?"
"1k? That's nothing. Let's do it!" I said and we trudged forth over the last kilometer, up and into the park, over a bridge, around the pend.
We finished strong. A few minutes off our goal but invigorated.
Then hopped on our bikes, grabbed some avocado sushi, and watched the sun dance on the ocean.
I pedalled home (on the Granny Gear of course) and fell into bed with a smile and stiff quads.
Man, it's nice to run again.
