Boomer and the Nudge

Last weekend I ran in a relay race with my energetic and fit girlfriend. We weren't racing against each other so suffering the ultimate embarrassment of losing to her wasn't a possibility. In fact, we were teammates. She ran the first 5k and I completed the final 4.4 miles. I got to pick the team name and chose "Boomer and the Nudge."

As soon as I stepped onto the empty roadside where my leg would begin - I felt something drop in my stomach and I actually smiled. I thought that what I felt was nerves. Two of my friends were also running the race and surely bragging rights would be awarded to the fastest friend. Knowing that my buddies are fast, and competitive, winning this race would be very difficult. The three of us walked around our starting area, speculating about the performances of out teammates, and the potential neck and neck fight that would certainly be the final mile. Soon, the top runners came. As the rest of the pack approached I realized that my nerves had not yet lifted on my stomach, at that moment then I felt my bladder swell, and my brow sweat. It wasn't race-day nerves that were holding me down.

The shackle and chain combo that sent radiant doubt to my thighs and feet could not be ignored. In a slight panic, my eyes darted near and far for an compartment of relief. There would be no such haven for me. And as my teammate pounded closer, one step at a time, the reality of running a race on a um, full stomach, was setting in.

The other two had already left the start as their teammates arrived before mine. But along came Lizzie, bumping into the the midway point with a word of encouragement. She had run her race a little ahead of her pace. I could see she was exstatic with her performance. There was no time to explain my predicament to her. I would have to do this alone. The only relief to my stress was 4.4 miles away.

2 miles into the race I was cruising by people and felt pretty good. I even started to think that maybe I could catch my friends or at least finish closely behind. As I (surely) dazzled hundreds of middle-aged women and old-men in the middle of pack, I thought, "no problem, I'll get through this without a care."

False. The inevitable was smuggled into my brain among the mid-race endorphins. My cadence slowed. I could no longer march forward to the cadence of a tight snare drum, but rather dragged on, beat-by-beat, to the obnoxious roar of of a bass drum. Each step the drum beat got lower and slower until the drum hit the ground. I had to stop to avoid certain disaster. As the race sprinted ahead in the final mile, each runner put their head down on the final strait away, my eyes had locked onto their target, a cool-blue/green hut with a chimney. My legs carried my body off the road. I melted onto the grass, and then into the strange, repulsive glow of a port o potty. Sweet relief.

After completing the race. I had to laugh with my friends. I was glad to finish with a smile, rather than a... well it could have been much worse.

I guess it happens to runners. But one thing I can say is don't force yourself to learn this lesson the hard way. Warm up in advance, take care of business and prepare to race...non-stop. In the end the funniest part about the race happened long before we laced up our sneakers. There was actually some conflict about my choice of team name. Who was the Nudge? Who was Boomer? Well, after the race the characters were clearly identified, I was Boomer.