Optimism is normal, but some fortunate people are more optimistic than the rest of us. If you are genetically endowed with an optimistic bias, you hardly need to be told that you are a lucky person - you already feel fortunate.--Daniel Kahneman

Last weekend, after looking at the worn heels of my running shoes, I decided that I needed "big boy shoes" if I was going to keep running. "Big boy shoes" cost a little more and should be fitted to the way you run.

I took the big boy step of going to Dick’s Sporting Goods and actually asking a salesperson for help. I can’t remember the last time I did that. I usually give them the ‘get away from me’ look.

I got a nice pair of Asics with a colorful trim (that my son told his colorblind father was a nice shade of pink after we left the store. ha, ha). I tried them out the next day, and they felt so good, I decided to use them in my next event: the Harvard Pilgrim 5k ‘Finish at the 50’ road race on July 3^rd at Gillette Stadium, home of the New England Patriots.

So, there I was at the starting line of the race, with my new shoes, way in the back as runners lined up by pace with the 5-minute milers up front and the walkers in the rear. When I was a kid, I remembered how the old Keds sneaker commercial guaranteed that getting new sneakers enabled you to run faster and jump higher, so I was feeling confident.

I was just in front of the walkers when my brother, the runner, checked in with me. We chatted for a while and then he said he wanted to jog a little bit before getting started. Sure, he jogged right up to the 8-minute mile pace runners and away from the plodders in the 10-minute pace where I was stretching.

Standing in the shadow cast by the stadium on the side away from Route 1, there were more than 3,600 runners, with 7,200 ear buds and 3,600 playlists. I felt alert, stretched and prepared. After a hard winter to run, and a hard spring to get the time to run, I had recently been able to run 3-5 times a week, averaging 2-3 miles each time. I was ready to try.

When the National Anthem ended, the herd of us started moving forward. As I passed the start line, I had “See a Chance” in my ears, made eye contact with my son, gave him the thumbs up sign and was off. Or not.

Unbelievably there was a pack of 12-year-old girls in front of me, giggling and waving their arms and chatting as they ran. Oh no!

However, there are thousands of spectators on the other side of the fence, and I’m reminded that I am not a spectator today, I am one damn lucky guy to be able to be wearing these new shoes in a 5k race instead of watching from the sideline. But the glow passes as I am still trapped as we ran past the movie theater. Why me?

By the time we turned and headed away from Patriot Place in the parking lot, the crowd had thinned out a little. By the time we turned, and I could see the whole stadium, “Who Says You Can’t Go Home” was playing in my ears, reminding me that I did in 2006.

The next part of the route was boring and cool at the same time as we covered ground you can’t cover. We went through the administrative parking lot and onto back roads that fans, and others are not allowed to use. Boring. Cool. Behind the Dana-Farber Field House it was starting to get hot.

Let me rephrase: it was hot the entire time, but I was getting hot. Very hot. Still feeling ok but wondering how far it is to the water stop. Or, if there even is a water stop? Oh, no!

At the one-mile mark in the front of the stadium, there was a water station, although poorly managed because they were behind filling cups, and I stopped and had a sip, remembering that running and drinking water is not in my skill set. At last, I entered the stadium to the sound of “We Built This City” and started up the first ramp, and the second ramp, and the third ramp, and the fourth ramp, and the fifth ramp, and the sixth ramp…and yep, we are going to run up all twelve ramps up all the way to the 300 level. Oh, no!

Lots of turns, but it turned out to be a breeze. I am totally impressed that my hill training has held me in good stead: I am passing folks, and no one is passing me. At the top, we race around the concourse with a nice breeze, and I remember the time I froze my ass off sitting up here at a December game and I had described the breeze as a biting wind. New England weather. As we run around behind the Jumbotron I can look down and see thousands of spectators in the stands and the inflatable helmet that I will be running out of when I head to the fifty-yard line.

The 2nd mile marker is up here, just before we head down another set of 12 ramps to the ground level. My regular training run includes a last mile that is all uphill. This race should be easier with the last mile downhill. Or not. It is hard to run downhill—you hold yourself back so that you don’t tip over. After ten ramps we do a lap around the 100 level and then we have to leave the stadium for a couple of hundred yards in order to enter the tunnel to the field.

Here I go: my big moment, a big reason I am running in this event: I am into the tunnel. I can see the cheerleaders and the inflatable helmet up ahead. I wonder if they will be taking pictures as we leave the helmet.

And then, without warning, while I still have a smile on my face, my new shoes hit a seam as the carpeted tunnel turns into field turf and I can’t believe that I am going to fall flat on my face as I enter the playing field at Gillette Stadium with thousands in the stands, cheerleaders waiting. Oh, no!

I trip entering the back of inflatable Patriot’s helmet, but it looks like I am going to make the 6 o’clock news if that video camera is turned on, as my face races towards the turf. Instead of raising my arms as I charge onto the field, my arms are going to hit the ground slightly before my face. Oh, no!

With all my might and whatever sense of balance I have left, I am able to stay on my feet! Unbelievable.

How the heck did I manage to stay on my feet? I’m a little in shock, I thought I was a goner. As I cross the end zone, I can’t believe I am upright. How did I do that? It doesn’t matter.

I am on the field at Gillette Stadium with a big smile on my face. I’m not smiling because I finished, but I’m smiling because I’m on my feet. I’m a little disappointed in my time of 34 minutes, 37 seconds, but I’ll wait until tonight when I check the race times on the internet to decide how I really feel. It’s my first event in seven months, and it was an unusual course, and I didn’t fall flat on my face.

Well, I check the race web site and was pleased to learn that I finished 1536^th. I finished 1536 out of 3670 runners—I finished in front of 2,000 people! Not ‘in front of’ meaning people watching, but ‘in front of’ meaning running ahead of more than 2,000 people. (I also finished 1,000 runners behind my brother). There were 45 men in their sixties running and I finished a very respectable fourteenth, and most importantly, not flat on my face. Oh, yes!

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