Warning - LONG!
I’ve been gearing up for a half-marathon lately by running 10K after 10K after 10K. My friend Heather has been running a lot of them with me… See this thread for one race report.
This weekend I didn’t have a race; Heather did. I enjoy supporting Heather at races so I offered to go with her. Sunday was the Woodbury Country Mile Half-Marathon. (I don’t understand the name, either.) She had to register that morning, so when I expressed interest in going, she said, “Are you sure you want to go? We have to leave the neighborhood at 5:30 AM.” I told her I’d be there. And man, am I glad I went!
The morning was clear, beautiful, a little humid and the temperature was in the mid-70s. The mosquitos were out in force. After Heather registered, attached her bib and tied her chip to her shoe, we headed toward the start. The field was about 600 strong. Heather took off her jacket and went for a warm-up so I stood around and people-watched. A large contingent of Leukemia and Lymphoma Society Team in Training runners ran by and I heard their leader say, “If it’s any consolation, you’ll be running with the Kenyans today,” and nod in the direction of two very dark-skinned black guys getting ready to run. I was a little embarrassed for the Team in Training guy… just because the guy is dark-skinned, in shape and at a running event, he’s Kenyan? Hmmm.
After a lengthy speech from the race director about the new course, they were off.
The course is an unusual out-and-back. Out for a few miles, then two large loops and back to the finish on the beginning stretch. The cool thing about the course is that a spot about four miles from the start allowed me (and other specators) to see the runners at three different points in the race.
I got to the spot about five minutes before the leader. And what a leader he was. It was one of the “Kenyans” and man, did he look beautiful and strong. He was at least three minutes ahead of the next competitor. Several more men passed by - I wasn’t expecting to see Heather yet, but suddenly there she was, in tenth or eleventh place! I almost missed her! “Go Heather!” I yelled as she flew by.
Twenty minutes later the “Kenyan” came by again… “You are inspirational!” I yelled at him, “Keep going!” Heather showed up about seven minutes behind the leader. “Go Heather!” I yelled. “Hey, you saw me this time!” She yelled back, smiling.
The third time I saw the field, the “Kenyan” had really distanced himself; he was at least five minutes ahead of the rest of the pack. Heather was still going strong as the first place woman with nine or ten men ahead of her.
I drove to the finish and arrived two minutes ahead of the leader. The “Kenyan” looked so strong crossing the line. Muscular, bald, sweaty and strong. Watching his awesome display of athleticism would make anyone want to take up running. The race director announced his name and time as he crossed the line. Lawrence Mboga - his time: 1:11:45. A 5:29 mile pace. Ho. Lee. Crap. It was almost six more minutes before the second-place competitor showed up.
I had to talk to him, so I went over. His friend from the beginning of the race was helping him get out of his sweaty clothes… “Hi Lawrence, I just wanted to tell you what a thrill it was to watch you run today. You were inspirational.”
“Thank you.” He said, smiling and shaking my hand.
“Was the course hilly?” I asked.
“Oh yes, I went up, I went down.” Lawrence replied.
I congratulated him again and headed back to the finish in time to see my best friend win the women’s division with a time of 1:23:14 - a 6:21 mile pace. She’s a f*ckin’ badass.
After Heather’s race, we wandered around together while she cooled off and ended up meeting some friends of hers… they talked for quite a while about their times and finally got around to asking what time the leader had run. I couldn’t remember, so I walked over to the race director to see if he could announce the time again. He was a little too busy to answer, so I started back to Heather when from my left I heard, “Hey, how old are you?” It was the “Kenyans” and they were gesturing to me to come over and talk.
“Are you talking to me?” I asked.
“Yes, how old are you?” Lawrence asked.
I’m not embarrassed about my age and really don’t mind the question. “I’m thirty-three, why do you want to know?” I asked, smiling.
“Oh, we thought you were fifteen!” His friend said, both of them laughing.
“So, where are you guys from, anyway?”
“Kenya.”
Okay, so they’re really Kenyans. Cool.
We talked for about twenty minutes. I got Lawrence’s time. His friend, Vincent Temu, bragged about how he was a lot faster than Lawrence. Turns out they both live in New Brighton and train in Minnesota half of the year. They head back to Kenya during the ungodly winter. They asked if I ran and I told them of my incredibly slow average 10-minute mile pace.
“You should train with us.” Lawrence said.
I couldn’t speak. My chest felt full, my face flushed. Maybe they were just being nice and didn’t really mean it…
“Are you kidding?” I asked, incredulous.
“We can’t guarantee anything except that you will run faster.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, we’re not kidding. We should get together at Lake Calhoun sometime and do some long slow distance.”
I can’t believe it. The Kenyans offered to train with me.
I’ve decided. I’m going to run the marathon in the 2008 Olympics.
