Faces of Races

The beautiful thing about 5Ks is that there’s room for everyone. It’s a place where runners from all levels of training can converge and enjoy friendly competition.

To a casual observer, it would seem that competition in a 5K race is a simple matter: the fast ones  take the lead, and the slower ones bring up the rear. But a savvier spectator – or participant – can recognize that those 3.1 miles have an uncanny way of naturally categorizing runners into clusters based on what type of training they do. People with similar training styles tend to compete in packs without meaning to.

It starts after the pistol fires and the pack begins to thin out. That’s when the adrenaline wears off – when the “real race” starts – and when runners begin to separate out.

I started noticing this breakdown last week, when I ran a 5K near Gainesville’s Westside Park.

My first challenge was to aggressively weave around the folks puttering along at cautious speeds. These folks were the Slow Starters, a group that’s probably relatively insecure about their running abilities. They’ve trained primarily for the event by walking on the treadmill, probably watching TV and sipping Gatorade. For them, the act of simply doing a 5K is momentous, so shove technique, speed and all that other stuff aside. Their friends and family who know what a big deal this is are on the sidelines applauding their fitness decision.

As the course snaked through a wooded park, I noted that I was now among the Elitist Geezer Runners. The male, 55+ demographic I found myself sailing alongside wore technical gear – bright blue and neon yellow moisture-wicking shirts and shorts with high slits that revealed a little more leg than I cared to see. They ran swiftly but rather stiffly. These are the guys who keep running logs – you know, the little charts where you keep track of your daily workouts and check off what you’ve done. Undoubtedly these guys are getting up at three or four in the morning, burning up the quiet streets of retirement communities under the shroud of twilight to complete their logs.

My next goal was to pass the Khaki-Shorts Mom, who was actually running wearing safari-style khaki shorts. She was running notably well, especially since her small daughter with braided pigtails chugged along beside her. She was a one-of-a-kind opponent that day, but I knew there were more of her kind. They probably had to cancel because their kids had conflicting soccer games or gymnastics meets. Of course she trains with about seven or eight other moms who wear sun visors and push their small children in jogging strollers along suburban sidewalks. Her arms were noticeably jacked – evidence that pushing the stroller was good for more than just keeping your kid close.

Nearing the end of the race, I could see that I had reached a new section: I was now running with the Watch Watchers. The five or six men visible in front of me all were consulting their watches at extremely frequent intervals. It was obvious these guys do interval speed work – the type who alternate doing distance runs with doing wind sprints on the local high school’s track once all the teenagers go home. I didn’t have a watch, but it was nice to be grouped temporarily with those who cared about their times.

Oh, yeah. There’s this one last group I call the Addicts. This collection crossed the finish line at varying times, but their common element is they were obsessed with passing people.

Addicts might not run every day. They usually don’t follow a training schedule. And good heavens, they NEVER go to the gym because running is just so much healthier than pumping iron. 

You can pick Addicts out at the end of a race because they’re hanging over the yellow caution tape marking the chute. You may have heard occasional critiques from them, such as “His stride is off,” or, “She should point her toes more when she sprints.”

But mostly, as they stand there eating those little banana-halves, they’re cheering, for the 19:56 finish and the 52:33 finish alike. Because regardless of finish time, they understand the joy of running – that it’s about finishing and loving it. Yeah, there’s room for everyone in a 5K. 
Once I crossed the finish line, I grabbed a banana and joined them at the tape.