The run was the pinnacle of the weekend, but the adventure began on Friday when I headed uptown to pick up my "kit" (the race packet with number, chip, shirt, and a bonus of chocolate milk and pasta). Despite the race starting about 100 feet from my office, the kits had to be picked up at a suburban mall dedicated to sports stores, called MallSport (a really cool idea for a shopping mall, in my opinion). This meant a 30 minute bus ride to the 'burbs, which had I known better, I wouldn't have tried in hot-and-agitated rush-hour traffic. To top it off, the bus driver took the liberty to not-so-politely correct my gringa pronunciation of MallSport, but at least he assured me that his bus was headed to "Mal-essport". Just my daily Chilean reminder to check my ego at the door and take everything in stride.
Arriving at the atrium of the mall which had temporarily been overtaken by Brooks sponsorship, and following the others to retrieve our kits, I scanned my ID in some machine that was supposed to easily identify each runner, only to receive the message "You're not registered in our system. Go talk to someone at the Customer Service booth". Great, "go talk to someone" (in spanish, of course) was the last thing I wanted to do. Well, fortunately this was the end of the challenging part of my journey, and the beginning of the "we're all runners, and we're in this together" vibe that I love about running events. The guys at the booth helped me find my registration (a special process for those of us with foreign passports), and even searched high and low for a t-shirt larger than XS (we had a chuckle at the idea of the giant gringa with the XS shirt). I even used a coupon to buy a new pair of shoes, the same Brooks model that I have always run in. On the way out, I stopped by a treadmill set up in the mall where Harald Ulriksen was running for 24 hours to raise money for children with cancer (and soon he will run 3700 km north to south in Chile). All this put me back in the running mood.
Fast forward two days (a good night sleep, one earthquake, an awesome jog with two Fulbright gals, oodles of pasta, a nervous pre-race sleep). Sunday morning, I was making my race-plan, and I checked out last year's results. To my surprise, I realized that there was a big gap between the most competitive women runners, and the next competitors. A gap that I decided I could fill, taking advantage of Chile's yet-under-represented women's running scene, and my fortunate age at the upper end of the youngest age category. Translating my pace and mindset from minutes-per-mile to minutes-per-km, I was ready to compete.
I met my Fulbright running friend in front of my office building, used the facilities (thanks ALMA!), and we walked the 100 ft to the starting line, just as the crowds rushed ahead. We were pumped up (and my nerves were eased) by the booming music that turned the starting corral into a dance party. But, when the countdown to the start began, and when we crossed the starting line, the runners were all completely focused. The most important moment of the race for me: After failing to see the first km sign, and with the first portion of the route heading up and down a few small inclines, I was struggling with pace, and breathing heavy. Exactly at the moment when my side cramp was begin to yell at me, a soft-spoken guy said over my shoulder, "Niña, respira bien" ("Girl, breath well"). Breathing deeply in and out a few times, he kept me going.
I managed to get into a groove, and a reasonable pace for my goal. I had kept an eye on the pony-tails in front of me, and tried to minimize the number of pony-tails that passed me, so this awareness fueled my final push in the last km, and especially the last kick to the finish line. This final kick was the difference between 44 minutes (my goal), and sub-44, and as far as I know, it also launched me to the podium by a small margin.
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| Ready to fall over, but happy to be done just in time. |
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| Still sort of leaning, someone please catch me if I fall to the right. Look, there's a guy on stilts for entertainment. |
I found my friend, who had dominated her goal by about 10 minutes. We headed to the nearby park to enjoy the post-race festivities, which included the typical bananas and Power-ade, plus the continuation of the dance party scene, followed by awards. Having placed third in my age group of women, this was a rare podium finish for me -- stage, medal, photographer and all (with only a slight mis-pronunciation of my name, but this happens in the US too). I shared polite congratulations (as much as I could muster with my tired Spanish) with the other women in my age group, and I realized that the running scene is one that I can enjoy and feel at home among, around the world. Gringa or Chilena, we're all runners out on the road, and I look forward to many more runs to come.
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| Of course I was sporting my New Haven Road Runners shirt! |
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| My new running friends. |
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