Santa Run 5K Gone Wrong

Introduction

Excitement pumped in my chest as I waited to pick up my race packet at 7:30 AM, an hour and a half before the race began. My fingers stung underneath my mittens and my athletic leggings did nothing to protect me from the frozen metal of the bench where I sat not-so-patiently. The temperature of the week prior had been a comfortable 50-60 degrees, but today I was working with a frigid 30. Doing my best to not stare at the volunteers setting up booths and preparing water bottles in anticipation of the race, I sat on my hands stalling in hopes that another early participant would be the first to walk up to the registration booth and pick up their bib and shirt.

Feeling anxious but prepared, I revisited the course directions and memorized the elevation map. With the booth still in its mid-stages of preparation, I stood up to shake out my limbs in effort to regain feeling lost to the cold–particularly in my butt. Curse you heat-thieving park bench. To pass the time, I filmed a short, pre-race interview of myself walking through how I felt to instill a bit of confidence. It worked…but soon enough that confidence would expel from me in rush, and I would be powerless to stop it.

My Running Journey

What kind of masochist begins running in the summer? Although I understand that most long-distance training occurs in the grueling heat so that one is at peak strength for temperate fall races, that timeline has to be for veteran runners or those with any understanding of what is expected. As for me when I started, I certainly didn’t fall into either of those categories, so, yeah, the heat and humidity sucker punched me with a force only reality could provide.

After running semi-consistently for a couple of months, I figured I would establish a baseline idea of my performance pace by participating in a local 5K in the early days of June. Having recently recovered from Covid, I wasn’t feeling as sparkly for this event as I would have liked; however, the objective was to see what I could do with an understanding that things would get better from here. I completed the 5K in 30:35, or 09:43 min/mi. Not bad!

My next feat of choice was a 10K in September–a stretch goal in my mind. I told myself that as long as I finished, then it would be a win. By following an exercise plan created by the Runna app, I went from three miles being a challenge to six miles becoming a regularity in just three months. Maybe I could have a goal that was more than “just finish”. Even in the blistering heat, I finished the 10K in 1:00:38, or 09:46 min/mi. Are you kidding me? Let’s goooo!

From there, I had almost four months to prepare for my next race in December, the Santa Run 5K. In that time, I consistently ran a sub-nine-minute pace for up to four miles and a just-over-nine-minutes pace for distances up to seven miles. I was running seven miles at a time now, oh my god. Needless to say, I was not worried about how the Santa Run would turn out. Finishing was a given, but I really wanted to make my past self shake in her boots!

The Santa Run 5K

It was early and it was cold. After finally picking up my bib, commemorative race shirt, and elf hat (it’s a holiday themed race, so, of course, there was an assortment of accessories from which racers could choose), I hurried back to my warm apartment as I lived just a block away from the starting line. I don’t know about you, but I get a lot of performance anxiety. Whether it is public speaking, a dance competition, or a race, my heart rate escalates, and my stomach is a knot until the event starts. Thankfully, I’ve accepted this about myself, and I know how to handle it: ignore, ignore, go to the bathroom, ignore. It goes away eventually.

Ian let me wear his wool peacoat until five minutes remained before the start time. He held my hand as he hyped me up, and I wanted nothing more than to impress him with how far I had come in my running journey. No longer was I crawling through mileage but regularly witnessing non-marginal progress. Jingling with every stride, I was going to make him proud.

An airhorn sounded, and the pitter-patter of sneakers on pavement echoed down the crowd of eight hundred racers. As if signaling that everything was going to be fine, the airhorn scared away the nervous pee caused by lingering anxiety. I was on the move. The first mile went by quickly: 8:29 min/mi. Hell yes. In my opinion, it is the second mile that is always the worst because the excitement of starting the race has worn off, and now you’re just running as fast as you can manage knowing you have another mile ahead of you. Second mile complete: 8:44 min/mi. Oh my god, it’s happening. I might be in the top performers of my age group. Last year’s third place had a pace of 8:35 and I’m averaging that now! An extra boost of adrenaline kicked in at the start of the third mile, and I was ready to bring it home… until it hit me.

I couldn’t catch my breath, and my stomach twisted. I was at mile 2.75 when the positive self-talk took a back seat and panic set in. Taylor, you’re so close. Just keep pushing. It will be over soon. I kept my feet moving until I felt my tongue lurch forward and choke out the air I was desperately seeking. Still trying to jog, I kept dry heaving upright until I couldn’t breathe. Finally–with so much sadness–I walked over to the curb to take a seat and let my body purge. I could not stop throwing up for a solid minute. With every push, I heard the jingling of my elf hat which was just the universe bullying me at this point. The worst bit, though, was in the middle of my heaving my bladder released, and not just a trickle. How?! I peed three times before I started this race. How is there anything left?!

With wet leggings (that were thankfully black) and bruised pride, I called my husband to let him know I wasn’t finishing this race and walked back to where we started without crossing the finish line.

Here’s A Toast

Hilariously, I placed eleventh out of the thirty-eight people in my age group! I guess I was close enough to the finish line sensor on my walk back home that I did not have to take a DNF. My official chip time was 33:26, or 10:46 min/mi. How great is that? Even with having to pull myself over and lose every ounce of fluid in my body then giving up and walking home, I still performed decently. The only thing that makes me sad is that if my body had not gone into a state of revolt and if I had kept my pace, then I would been in the top three. Drats…

Overall, I am happy for the opportunity to join the running community in collecting hilariously horrific stories of body rebellion. Did I still sheepishly take off my wet clothes, hop into the shower, and stare numbly into the steaming rain as if waiting for some magical race baptism that would wash me of that last half hour? Absolutely. Was I able to quickly laugh it off with a group of friends that evening over a needed drink? Also, yes! There will always be more races and chances to prove oneself. I don’t take myself seriously enough for this to ruin my running journey. I celebrate the experience with a badge of honor. I think I’m a real runner now.

Cheers!