This week is either the long awaited, or long dreaded, return of a ‘running story.’ Some readers might feel deprived since it's been five months since the last one.

Others have been pleased that they don't have to labor through the emotions that come with striving and striding.

If you started running after the age of 60 and had a weekly Weblog, you might favor this type of story as well.

As long-time readers know, the running stories are not exactly about running but about the lessons or insight gained when in the arena. Let's take off.

During Boston Marathon Weekend in the city, there is a small 5K race that close to 10,000 spandex-clad amateurs participate in. 

I am allergic to spandex, so I am one of the few not wearing skin-hugging tights. I have participated in this event about a half-dozen times, training heavily beginning in January right up to the event. 

In Massachusetts, Patriot’s Day is celebrated on the third Monday of April, to commemorate the Battle of Lexington and Concord that began the Revolutionary War. That is the date the Boston Marathon is run, and the date the Red Sox play a game starting at 11:00 AM, so departing fans can catch a glimpse of the runners coming through Kenmore Square.

The 5K on the Saturday of the weekend is part of the festivities, and many of the marathoners run the event to warm up for the big race on Monday. Not me, the 5k is the big race for me.

This year was different:

• My long-time trainer, Sarah, is taking some time off after her second child was born. I haven't been lost without her guidance, but I haven't been better off.
• I have been doing specific at-home physical therapy exercises because of a right hip/glute issue I’ve had for a couple of years.
• Due to weather, work, and travel, plus the hip issue, I had only run two times before April this year for a combined distance of 3.5 miles. That’s right: a single one mile run and a single two-point-five-mile run. It might be stretching the truth to call that pace of work ‘training.’
• Last year I had 11 winter runs totaling 31.48 training miles. A little behind.
• With two weeks until the race, I had put together a plan to get some miles, get some confidence, and get some sense of whether I would run or not this year. Having already paid the fee, my value side was hoping I would be able to get up to speed and participate.

Unfortunately, the schedule I put together turned out to be a disaster. The days were disrupted by April snow, a change in travel plans, a personal conflict, a client’s request, etc. As a result, of the eight days I ‘scheduled’ a run, I made zero of them. That’s right, I didn’t run at all.

The day before the race it became ‘hard decision’ time, hovering around the Brave or Stupid line that always seems nearby. Do I just skip the race since I was totally unprepared, or do I go to Boston Common and pick up the T-Shirt and come home or do I actually cross the starting line and maybe walk most of the way?

The final decision came to me in a most random way. The day before most races, I have macaroni and cheese. For some reason it helps with my heart rate during a run. I know, it sounds like an old wives’ tale, but it is true, and I’ve been doing it for years.

I was in a Panera Bread and saw some mac and cheese on the pick up counter as I returned from the drink station and went to the register an ordered a small serving. (Note: the small serving consisted of about eight soup-spoon fulls, and the price was almost $9. Inflation hits the restaurant industry. Who knew?)

Since I was having my pre-race meal, I might as well run, right?

The night before I laid out my shoes, socks, shirts, and attached the bib, so I was ready. 

When the alarm went off at 4:55 AM I hopped into my clothes, hopped into my car, and hopped on the Mass Pike and headed to Boston with perhaps the most trepidation I’d had about a race since running the Marathon in 2021.

How could I be nervous about a measly 5K compared to a marathon? It was the training. I’d done none. I was looking at a potential disaster, complete with injury and an additional setback to my 2024 plans. Brave or Stupid? As I barreled down a mostly deserted interstate, it was pretty clear that this was Stupid, until it wasn’t.

As some point on the drive in I started to think about how lucky I was. 

Strange thought, I know. I was 72 years old on my way to a road race. 

How many guys my age wish they could be heading to Boston for this event? I started to remember the feeling of being inside the orange barriers, and that whole Teddy Roosevelt speech about the ‘man in the arena’ striving.

By the time I parked the car, I was determined to simply enjoy being lucky. I would start the race and whatever happened, happened, but I was going to enjoy myself. 

• I wasn’t going to be trying to establish a personal best. (31:34 for those interested) 
• I wasn’t going to be trying to beat last year (32:30). 
• I was just going to cross the start line and enjoy the lap around the Public Gardens, the stretch down Commonwealth Ave where the trees were in bloom, the turnaround at the Citgo Sign in Kenmore Square, the famous turn from Hereford Street onto Boylston Street. 
• I would salute, as I always do, at the two memorials on Boylston Street from the 2013 Marathon Bombings, and smile as I crossed the marathon finish line (which was not the finish line for this race)

Yes, I was planning to have a very nice morning, even if I was walking the whole route. I can certainly walk three miles, I thought to myself. Or can I? 

I set an informal optimistic goal of finishing in 40 minutes which would be a half-walking/half-jogging pace. While it would be the worst 5k time of my career, it would be one to remember.

When the race started, I was a little surprised at how many people were on the first half-mile of the route cheering those of us at the end of the start corral. Definitely a surprise adrenalin rush. 

There seemed to be many more spectators than in prior years. 

My other surprise? My hip didn’t hurt, I was running, not walking, and seemed to be fine, so far.

I remembered what I had been told years ago: what you built up in terms of conditioning didn’t completely disappear after a winter of low workouts, but was still there, hidden inside. Damn, that was coming true right now.

I was in shock, make that stunned, when I passed the first mile marker and realized I had run the entire distance, with a decent time, and minimal-to-no pain. Whoa. 

I kept going and going and going, the whole time waiting for my body to let me know it was time to stop and walk the rest of the way, but it didn’t. 

A couple of times, I slowed down and walked 20 paces, but got right back on the metaphorical horse and moved ahead. As I ran down the last tenth of a mile (a 5k is 3.1 miles), I really, really, really, wanted to stop and walk, but that ‘will over skill’ drive kicked in and I finished the race on the run, and was stunned at what just happened.

I had lived in a space where doubting myself and my preparation was all encompassing. I almost didn't show up, until inspired by a small, and expensive, bowl of macaroni and cheese. 

I had decided to appreciate how lucky I was to even be in such a situation. It worked. I had a great day. I stepped up and relied on my past training and conditioning and experience and did the best I could.

When I walked in the door after arriving home and my wife asked how I did, I simply said: “Stunning.” 

As always, I wanted to hop in a hot tub, but we don’t have one, so I took a nap instead.

I finished ahead of 1,664 others, including 22 in my age group. I am a lucky guy.

Good things come slow--

especially in distance running.

Bill Dellinger