Pissed Off & Racing

I cannot recall the last time I felt as angry as I did at the start of the 50th Anniversary of the Bix 7 on July 27.

What happened?

It's Supposed to Be Orange!

It started with a yellow sticker on my bib that I didn't notice until 10 minutes before the race. It was a sticker that placed me into a slower corral of runners.

Long story short, because the Bix 7 attracts thousands of runners, we're all placed in certain corrals prior to the start, based on an estimated pace we include in our registration. Anyway, first year I ran Bix, I put down a slower pace. That bit of modesty had me boxed in by slower runners that I could not get around for nearly that entire race. Based on that miserable experience, I learned to submit a more accurate pace which had always placed me in the Orange corral (just behind the elite runners) where I had no issues with slower participants.

Since I've always been in the Orange corral, I really didn't pay any attention to my bib until a few minutes before the start when I saw that I was back in that Yellow corral. Despite mounting anxiety, I tried telling myself it would be fine.

It wasn't.

When I crossed the starting line, all I could see were hundreds of runners heading up the hill on Brady Street - most at a pace slower than mine.

Reason for My Rage

Frustration immediately exploded into rage as I saw nearly two months of hard training crumbling before my eyes. All those hills I'd added to daily runs. Competing in an evening race to acclimate to the heat and humidity. Shorter, more intense speedwork. All of that in order to have the best race possible and hopefully maintain my placement in the top 5 of my age group during the race's golden anniversary.

Blame it all on that yellow sticker.

At that moment it appeared that all of that work would be pissed away because of a damned yellow sticker that put me behind people I would not be able get around.

My fury was not directed at those other runners. They've every right to run the race however they chose. I simply should not be part of their group.

And I won't be, I told myself. No one was going to ruin this race for me. I decided in that instant to channel every iota of my anger into this race. Pour everything thing that I was feeling into the next seven miles.

No guarantee it would work. But why give up without at least a fight?

Whatever It Takes

Bold words immediately translated into seeking any opening that moved me ahead of any runner. I would weave to the left, easing past a few runners until encountering another pack of slower runners. Not wanting to ease my pace, I'd scan for another opening to the right and so on. If that didn't work, then I'd call out, "On your left" or "On your right," as I'd ease past another runner into a section of daylight. There were also occasions where a gentle nudge was required to make it past a runner who either didn't hear me or elected to ignore me.

Those few instances often included a few unavoidable words of profanity. Not something I'm proud to admit. But when it comes to a race, I am serious and I am competitive. While I don't want to upset or hurt anyone, I am determined to give any race my everything I have.

This explains why being placed in a slower corral could be a problem.

Throughout all of this, my eyes scanned not only every runner around me, but also their legs and feet. Under no circumstances, did I want to cause anyone to fall. Or suffer a fall myself. I also knew that such a mishap would end any dreams of placing in my age group.

That meant a meticulous focus on every stride I took along with seeking every opportunity to move past the runners in front of me.

I maintained that approach, my anger propelling me up that steep hill on Brady Street and through the first mile.

Then down a sharp decline on Kirkwood for the second mile, continuing that same intense focus.

As I did racing up and down a shorter, but challenging hill for the third mile.

it wasn't until I passed under the Mile 4 banner that the crowd thinned enough to allow me to run without others in my path. Although my first mile clocked in fifteen seconds slower than I'd planned, each subsequent mile had allowed me to gain some ground. When I heard the time called out at that 4-mile banner, I knew that my overall pace wasn’t far from where I’d wanted it to be.  That allowed me to shift my anger into determination. Which was needed. This also marked the start of the toughest hill on the course.  A long, seemingly endless slog up Kirkwood Street. No matter what, this would be my slowest mile.  However, salvation awaited as the next mile would take me down Brady Street.

Hello Fatigue

It seems that everyone who has ever raced the Bix 7 talks about the Brady Street hill as the event's greatest challenge. They're wrong. Granted the hill is steep. But it's not that long and it's at the start of the race. By far, the most difficult, most challenging aspect of the Bix 7 is going back up Kirkwood. Over a mile of climbing up a residential street with enough of a curve that you don't know exactly when it ends until you're back on Brady Street.

It should be noted that I didn't nudge anyone as tall as this guy.

Halfway up that hill, lingering portions of my remaining anger gave way a growing fatigue. Hardly unexpected. I knew the energy devoted to weaving and yelling would come back to haunt me. But at this point, with a clear road ahead of me, excuses were pointless. I had what I fought for all those previous miles. The rest was up to me.

My Garmin told me I'd had a decent time on that wicked uphill mile. The downhill proved a tad less beneficial. I never seem able to quite let go as much as other runners with steep declines. Nonetheless, I knew I picked up a few more seconds before Brady Street leveled off for the home stretch.

Although the finish line loomed only a few blocks away, each second and every step now seemed to take twice as long. Some runners moved past me. I moved past others. Everyone pushed hard in that final hundred meters until crossing that finish line.

My award for 5th place!

Final Outcome

Several anxious minutes passed before learning that I'd placed fifth for my age group. That earned the final award. I also learned that a mere 53 seconds separated fifth place from 2nd place in my age group.

I'll never know how I'd have done had I been in that faster corral. But given everything that I'd experienced with this race, I had zero complaints.

And I could finally smile.

Important Reminder

It also needs to be clearly stated that aside from my situation (which was most likely an unintended mistake) the Bix 7 is an outstanding race. A well organized, highly competitive and exciting event that I heartily recommend.

As for my adventures in Davenport, I'm hoping to never need to channel my anger again in a race. What are your thoughts? You can let me know in the comments below or on Facebook.

And my thanks for reading the blog!

My thanks to my wife, Amy, who puts up with me!