Running In the Rain

I ran my first race on Sunday. The race was only four miles, and though I've run many more than that on my own, I was nervous. I woke up that morning with the same jitters I used to get on the mornings of final exams. When I got to the park where the race was being held, I immediately began sizing up all the other runners, which was completely absurd given that I was not trying to win anything. I just wanted to get a feel for what a race was like. As I lined up in at the minutes per mile marker I felt most appropriate, my heart started racing before my legs did. The horn sounded, and I was off.

Prior to the start, it had been drizzling, but as I approached the first mile marker, it began to rain steadily - big drops pelting my face. I was so focused that after noticing the rain, I blocked it out entirely. I finished the first mile in good time, but I knew I could be going faster. I steadily increased my pace, bobbing and weaving through open spaces between the other runners. Eventually, I was keeping pace with the runners a full minute per mile faster than my usual pace. I was exhilarated as I hit Mile 3, full of foolish beginner's pride. I got a little cocky, as I sped up even more in that last mile, rounding the last few bends in the path like Speed Racer. In a flash, it hit me. I was gonna hurl. The waves of nausea washed over me faster than the rain, at the extact moment that I reached the crowds waiting near the finish line. Out of necessity, I slowed down and prayed that I would not throw up in front of JB, my sister, her boyfriend and countless strangers. I coughed without meaning to, managed not to yack and made it across the finish line with what was barely a jog. I don't know if it was nerves, my inability to eat much that early in the morning, that I pushed myself too hard in Mile 4, or stage fright in front of the spectators. I can't even think about the time I lost in the last tenth of a mile or so, but I am so obscenely proud of myself. I did it!