I live at the sea level. The altitude is 8100 feet here. I didn’t sleep well the first night here. I had dreams of an embarrassing death on the Sun Run, an obituary that read, “Bill had long been known to suffer from sloth and gluttony.” When I shared that I’d had a restless night, others said it was the altitude. They obviously aren’t haunted by the ghost of Sigmund Freud.
A whole lot of enthusiastic volunteers make it all possible. I expect the emergency doctors, cardiologists and respirologists doubled up along the route hearing that I was participating. At least I hoped so.
I took a picture of my friends John and Ray before the race. John had completed an Iron Man and Ray who was competing this year in Kamloops for the Canadian championship team. They were discussing weekly running routines of 15 to 20 hours, obviously threatened by my pear shaped, flabby muscled presence. I do Netflix marathons on the couch with hagen daz ice cream longer than that.
This year I did put some thought into strategy. I hadn't factored in the hills when I signed up last year for the run. I'm more of a flat walker than anything else. In previous years my strategy had only been to run when a young volunteer could see me. I walked the rest of the way. This required a lot of tiring hyper vigilance on my part.
My strategy this year was simpler. I attribute it to my survival. Even now I'm waiting for CNN Sports interviewers to call me up to discuss it.
"Run down hill." Walk up hill.!" "Run downhill. Walk up hill!" As I was doing just that, I was saying it like a mantra to avoid any craziness.
Ray and John and others finished the race a half hour or so before me but I don’t think any others considered making out a will before the race. When I crossed that finish line I saw heavenly paparazzi snapping my picture.
I really am thankful for the Sun Run organizers and volunteers. I'm also thankful to Bobbie, Carole and Cheryl who got me to come along on my first IDAA Fun Run all those years ago.