My weekend fun

Runners come in all shapes, sizes and speeds. That being said, this past weekend I, with my shape and size, treated myself to the Energizer Brooks Night Race at Sunnybrook Park in Toronto. I use the word treated, but I don’t want you to think a run through a dark park in the middle of downtown Toronto is like eating a big slice of double chocolate stout cake or scarfing back a bag of potato chips. It isn’t anything of the sort. To start, the pavement is difficult to see. Difficult enough that, the organizers gave each runner a head lamp to wear during the race. Some of the paths were still soaked with Friday evening’s torrential rains and there were drunken hecklers amongst the bystanders. The hecklers were there to remind a gal she is running in Toronto at night.

The truth is, I’m not a dedicated runner. In fact, when LOML and COM read this, they’ll have a good laugh at the suggestion I am a runner. However, I do dream about running great distances with grace and ease. I’ve also dreamt about speaking a foreign language— and we all know my fluency in anything other than English only has entertainment value.

Yeah, that’s the ticket. Entertainment. This year, my race goal was to even out my pace. In the past, I started running the course as though I’d stolen something and my heart was close to bursting, followed by a few minutes of breathless walking, repeating the process until I crossed the finish line.

Last year’s Night Race netted me a pretty good time, but this year’s race got me to the finish line without throwing a piston, and I was two minutes faster. I did stop twice to help other runners. Once for a runner who told me she’d torn the ligaments in her leg earlier in the day, but figured she was okay to run because the doctor had taped her “good” and advised her to stay off her feet. I begged to differ with her insistence to continue, but since I’m not fluent in torn ligaments, as they relate to runners who probably didn’t listen to their doctor, I could only shout to a volunteer that she needed assistance. I had to trust the First Responders to take her off the course.

The second runner told me she was 12 weeks pregnant as she stood, doubled over, with 500 metres to go. She moaned about a muscle cramp in her abdomen and left leg. Mom-to-be told me she wanted to finish because she had the Scotiabank half marathon coming up, and needed the distance to get ready for it. I’m not fluent in “pregnant and running”. Personally, I treated all my pregnancies as excuses to let other people do the running for me. But what do I know? Later, at the post-race-gathering, I saw the pregnant woman sitting with a paramedic, engaged in a heated discussion. I can only guess what that was about.

So, in the end, I’d improved my race time, helped two runners on the course and had a great weekend in Toronto with LOML and COM, his fiancé and her daughter. As my friend Bill says, “Life is good.” Indeed it is. Next year’s goal is to shave more time off my race. COM tells me I also agreed to Beat Beethoven in Kingston in June. Geez, give a gal one beer post race and she’ll agree to anything. Maybe I should learn another language—one that doesn’t involve pain, paths and psychopaths.

theresa@wellingtontimes.ca