Random thoughts that occurred while slogging through the Bentonville Half-Marathon (because organized thoughts are a little hard to come by at about Mile 9):
(bullet) I think we've firmly established I am not a morning person. Couple that with the fact I see no reason to get significantly cleaned up when I'm just going to get sweaty (an adult version of the infamous "why should I make my bed when I'm just going to get back in it in a few hours" rationale), and the start of the race finds me looking a little ... rough.
Such, apparently, is not the case with many of the other runners. Some, it appears, have showered, shaved and coordinated their outfits. And I'm not even counting the ones wearing tutus. Some appear to be wearing shoes that match (OK, most of them are. That could just be a "me" problem). There are women who appear, suspiciously, to have styled their hair and applied makeup.
To all of that I say, hey, I'm wearing shorts (right side out and with the drawstring in the front, thank you), and I brushed my teeth. So, yea me.
(bullet) More on the running fashion front: It appears male competitors (again, not the ones wearing tutus) are divided into four distinct camps. There are the guys who run bare-headed, the ones who wear ball caps, visor-wearers and the headband guys.
So, at this point I'm a bit of a free agent who is considering his options. I tend to favor ball caps, mostly because in the mornings I tend to look like Guy Fieri. And not on purpose. That also rules out visors, because I tend to look like I'm wearing one of those novelty hats you find on the same aisle as ugly false teeth and googly-eye glasses.
Headbands, on the other hand, have some appeal. They say you're serious; you're a committed athlete who looks vaguely like a Spartan from "300."
Unfortunately, on me, they look a lot like I'm an extra in "The Treasure of the Sierra Madre."
Badges? I don't need no stinkin' badges!
So ... ball cap.
(bullet) Most serious runners will tell you they spend a lot of pre-race time developing a strategy. They consider things like pace, the impact of weather, the location of hydration stations, terrain, the capabilities of the rest of the field and when they want to unleash their fearsome "kick" and power through to their "personal record."
And that, of course, is just one of the many areas in which serious runners and I differ. You see, I've determined that the secret to accomplishing most difficult things is just to not think about them too much. Particularly while you're doing them. In fact, if there is one advantage to starting a race early, it's that there's a good possibility I won't really wake up until I'm so far out it would be faster for me to finish than turn back.
But, since everyone else seems to have a strategy and I don't want to feel left out, I actually came up with something. And it goes like this:
Start at the back with all the other people who look like they've had more to eat over the past two weeks than three grapes and a bamboo shoot. You probably won't run any faster, but the conversation will be better. Hungry people tend to be angry people.
If it's a hill, I'm walking up it. If it looks like a hill, I'm walking up it. If it was a hill before someone flattened it, I'm walking up it. If it looks like it might be laying there, all sneaky and flat just leading you on to a hill, I'm walking up it. I walk up hills. And I get to determine just what a hill is.
(bullet) Did you know it's as hard to run down a hill as it is to run up one? I do. Now.
(bullet) You know, I paid good, hard-earned American money for the privilege of proving just how little I really think things through and running a half marathon. And since I'm almost as cheap as I am goofy, I was going to run, despite the fact that it was cold, a little windy and sort of raining, mostly because, well, I paid for it.
But to all those volunteers and folks who were out there, despite the elements, helping us out, I've got to say thanks. Your encouragement didn't make me run any faster (mostly because that's really not humanly possible), but it sure made the whole thing a lot more pleasant. Except for that big ol' hill part. Which I'm really sure is just, well, really, really unnecessary.
(bullet) I finished. And I will never do that again. Until I do it again.
Gary Smith is a recovering journalist living in Rogers.
Commentary on 04/03/2015