And I Would Watch 5000 Meters

Or at least the first and last few

This past Sunday, my sister participated in a 5K AKA a five kilometer race. For some reason even American runners are bound to the metric system, except when it comes to marathons I guess, and I suppose there’s a reason for this but we’ve already spent too long thinking about it. What we should be thinking about is: why would someone do a 5K, especially if not for love nor money nor charity? I think it’s because my sister loves an activity. As a child, she would write bullet-pointed lists of suggested outings, strewing them about the house, hoping someone with a driver’s license would find them and be inspired. It’s a good quality to have in Los Angeles where the only things that happen are the things you make happen, baby!

And so I was awake at the crack of dawn (9 AM) in Griffith Park, freshly sogged from the overnight rain. It turns out it’s beautiful in the morning—misty green, as opposed to the usual hazy brown.

My sister had cajoled her roommates to run the race with her so my husband and I dropped the athletes off at the registration point and then parked approximately one thousand miles away. We made our way back with my sister’s elderly, insane dog, whose skills involve “growling,” “barking,” and “farting” and unfortunately fall short of “basic ambulatory movement.” My husband carried her the whole way, her quivering 10 to 15 pounds feeling heavier with each passing moment.

Eventually, we intersected with the race path, which was populated with runners finishing the earlier race, the half marathon. Overall these runners seemed to be in shockingly good spirits considering how early they’d woken up (before the crack of dawn even) and what they’d done after waking up (run a half marathon).

The start / finish line was populated by tents from local vendors (Trader Joe’s), food trucks, a desolate beer garden, and the loudest music you’ve ever heard. The good thing about the loud music was announcers were also talking over it, which meant their voices were really loud, which always sounds good when played through speakers. A good vibe for the crack of dawn (10 AM).

Soon the runners were off. We cheered them on and then headed to the food trucks. We had to choose between breakfast burritos and pasta which I have to say isn’t a terribly hard choice at the crack of dawn (slightly after 10 AM).

In the time it took to order and eat the burritos the runners were returning, so we ambled back to the finish line to cheer on our returning heroes. Everyone was really looking forward to what they thought was the complimentary (for runners) beer garden, until it was revealed that the beer garden was not complimentary (for anyone) and only served O’Doul’s. The big lesson there was that O’Doul’s makes regular beer in addition to the stuff George W. Bush drinks.

We fled the scene and had brunch at a normal (vegan) place, where no one inquired about the complimentary (for runners) medals around the runner’s necks. My sister, through some fluke, received the half-marathon medal instead of the 5K medal. Fraud?

Not for me to say. I didn’t run the damn race, and as Brené Brown quoting Theodore Roosevelt once said:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

So I turned to my sister, the man who was actually in the arena, face marred by dust and blood, on what it felt like to finish the half marathon 5K:

So next time, when faced with a challenge you’re not sure you’re up to just remember: in reality it is only three miles but that last mile will still require a lot of effort and distraction because you will be tired from running at the crack of dawn.