Just as in the U.S., the first edition of any race is approached with caution. Running a smooth road race benefits from an experienced runners perspective. I give the Yo Creo team pretty good marks for a first race, with one major caveat. This Grumpy Runner prefers an actual PORTA-POTTY to a sneaky surreptitious pee on a large bush in a side street.
Some 350 or so folks line up to run, with both the 5K and 10K races starting together. A bit of a small field for a Llano Park Sunday run. They coulda done more promotion, and offered prize money. The race is a fundraiser for a local kids charity, so I reckon they did what they could to drive a crowd to the event and raise some pesos.
The Grumpy Runner trying to relax and focus.
The last race I ran at Llano was a mere three weeks back on the same 5K loop course, but there was prize money that day. The field was at least twice as large and attracted a compliment of the local Kenyans, who live cheaply and train at Mexico's altitude.
This course I enjoy. It's a loop heading south into Oaxaca's "Centro" on Juarez, then it cuts across Calle Independencia and heads north on Pino Suarez. It heads into Oaxaca's Reforma neighborhood before turning back to the Centro to complete each 5K loop. Realize, at Oaxaca's 5000 ft. altitude, it can be a challenge. The beauty of the course over 10K (my distance today) is that mile 2 and mile 5 are gradual uphills. It gets your attention, especially on loop 2.
Good cheer prevails. The medium size crowd is pretty mellow, filing to the start area gradually. The starting line is framed by costumed clowns, Batman, Spiderman and (Broomhilda?!) all on stilts. We're off pretty clean, albeit a few minutes late, and I tell myself, wait. As in, do not go too fast. I have a decent head of steam up, feeling good, but want to save my energy for loop two and the last mile of the race. I'm in decent shape, if not killer shape. Let's be cautious.
The Yo Creo 5K & 10K race swag. An over designed technical shirt and finishers medal. Not bad for 150 pesos (about $11.50 U.S). The race was not chip timed.
The incline into Reforma starts with the second mile. It's a bit of work but I chant Wait, wait, wait in rhythm with my breathing. Feeling good. I'm having a good race. Not a great race, but solid.
We turn back towards the Centro at mile 3, okay it's mildly downhill and this is good. I still chant: Wait.
This kid passes me. Slim fellow, 18 or 20 years old, with a beautiful smooth stride. I'm not racing (yet), keeping my own council, I let him go by. Looking at him, I wonder why the super tight biker shorts and equally form fitting technical T-Shirt? The super smooth runner in his fasionista sports gear. Fine.
He slows from his surge. I catch up. Running next to me, he forces me into the street which has traffic on it. Cars way too close. I drop back and give him a meter. Now I'm on his inside as he slows again and he forces me over towards the parked cars. The aggressive stuff continues for a quarter mile. I'm keeping my own pace, maintaining a rhythm as best I can, but Fashion Lad is messing with me. Why, who knows. I pull in front of the guy and cut him off, how do you like it pal?
I make a point of keeping my distance. We approach the 5K mark (one loop), Fashion Lad puts on a wee little kick, I think "He's running the 5K" He gets a gap on me, and claps for himself and waves his hands in the air and cheers a bit. Why not?
Yes I am surprised that Fashion Lad DOES NOT stop at the finish line, continuing on for loop 2 and the 10K. The guy gaps me now and I'm happy. He can't mess with me when he's 40 meters up on me. Meanwhile, I keep my mantra rolling WAIT - WAIT - WAIT in rhythm with my breathing. I pass the 5K, I'm chomping at the bit, I want to ramp it up, but stick to my plan. Wait for the 5th mile uphill. It's the crucible of this particular 10K course.
Just as the 5th mile starts, I'm catching this guy a bit younger than I (I'm mid/late 50s) who has a big frame. He's wheezing like a draft horse. We go to cross the Calle Ninos Heroes, a.k.a. the Pan American Highway, which separates the Centro from the Reforma neighborhoods. The cops fail to stop a bus in time, and Draft Horse guy has to stop for a second -- I whiz by him as the bus goes on, while I'm yelling and gesturing at another car to stop. Hey race director! Straighten this crap out. The grumpy runner does not want to die running your race. Thanks.
I press into Reforma uphill, keeping a jaunty rhythm. My chant changes to RE-LAX-A-TION repeated every four strides. Focus on form and leg turnover. Draft Horse guy is wheezing like you never heard, issues fluids from his nose and mouth as he goes. He tucks in behind me and sticks like glue. I'm not racing yet, not trying to drop him. Simply going medium hard up the damn hill, albeit as relaxed as I can muster. Not like the blind pain type of race rhythm where you know you can keep rolling somehow, more like "This ain't easy but I can do it".
Draft Horse guy and I encourage each other. Talk back and forth a bit. Honestly we help each other take measure of that long incline. It's not that steep, just hella long. We turn at the top and Draft Horse lets go. I admire the hell out of that guy. He's a brick house and he's taking it to the wall over 10K. I'm impressed.
I catch up with a couple younger dudes at the turnaround, late 20s early 30s guys. I pass one and he surges back. A mile to go and these two guys start racing. I stick to them for a bit but decide to go with my relaxation chant and focus on leg turnover. They're up 20 meters on me in no time but they stay there.
My chant is working out pretty good. At half a mile to go, I'm rolling with it, in touch with my body. I'm up on the two younger dudes, notching it up and easing by them. OK BOYS, NOW I'M RACING! It's fun as hell but I'm starting to redline, to hurt pretty good, when I notice, Fashion Lad is right here 30 meters in front of me! Oh, I own you now, Fashion Lad.
He got up on me over mile 4 up the hill, maybe 60 - 70 meters. I give him props, working that hill so well with that smooth stride. But now we have 300 meters to go, and he's only 20 meters up on me. Seriously redlining, but I know I have a burst in me.
WAIT! The call returns. Don't sprint yet. I'm reeling this kid in, with about 80-90 meters to run it's GO TIME. I open it up and rush past Fashion Boy as he let's out an odd questioning grunt, sort of "how dare you!" - I'd like to say I hit a smooth, rhythmical sprint, but it's more a clumsy open middle distance stride, a grab at the finish line, limbs flailing in a herky-jerky rhythm. It feels great and I am pretty darn whipped at the finish.
I hit 50:01, slow as hell. Oh well, I'm the age I am, it's at mile high altitude and the course (I've measured it) is 160 meters too long. I'll take it!
Steve Lafler, The Grumpy Runner.
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