My First Distance Race, Ever

I am having a few physical mechanical errors as of now. In the meantime, I will share past running stories:

I get asked these questions a lot, "So, when did you start running?"--"What was your first race ever?"--"What brought you into running?"--"1-10.... What are you?"--"Who is your celeb look-a-like?"-- And "To which gang do you belong to?"

And "Yes", I have answers to all of them:

I started seriously competing the last half of my 7th grade year.

"5th grade"

"All results are self earned"

"14"

"Brad Pitt"

"Thug street 12". To get into the gang, one must first tell me the secet to life, then proceed to beat a rubix cube (without cheating), and 'then' give a full thought out essay on what qualifies you to be a part of our gang.

"If" you meet all critieria you will be awarded a gang jacket, a swiss army knife (now, those things are just 'handy'!), and you will be instructed to meet up each gang meeting, to which, will be held at my mom's house every second Saturday of the month... THERE'S FREE COOKIES THERE TOO! YA!" We will discuss serious issues like, "How far east can you go before you're heading west?"--"Is there a limit on fortune cookie predictions?"--"If laughter is the best medicine... WHO'S the IDIOT that said they 'DIED...laughing?' AND last but not least, "Why do they tell you to smile when you get your license... When you are stopped by a cop you are NOT smiling!?"

What was I talking about?! Did I tell you I had ADHD? ... What!.. you already knew? I'm not ugly, YOU'RE UGLY!... If my dog was as ugly as yours, I would shave it's butt and have him walk balkwards!

Back to the point of this blog... One of the biggest questions I get asked is about my first distance race. I will 'expound' the story here and only here for the 'first' time... EVER!

It was a sunny afternoon in the great month of September. We were at the school known as Holland hall, a private school that is located in a little forest like area/atmosphere. I was a dorky little 5th grade... weighing in at a ferocious 72 lbs, at the staggering height of 5 feet...flat... OKAY... I was a couple inches shorter than that. That did NOT mean, I wasn't a true G from day one.

That day I did not know I was going to Holland Hall to run. I was going to watch a race. Little did I know of the cruelty of distance running at that time... I was primarily a soccer player that was soon to be drafted by team U.S.A. I was also a wrestler, and baseball player, but not a 'runner'.

My mom took to me to the meet b/c one of my older silblings was running in the high school division. Upon arrival, I heard they were having a 'kids division". Kids division = ALL kids 6th grade and under. Well, I was a cocky little punk and as soon as I heard this, "OOOO... OOOO... OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, I WANT IN!!!... ME ME ME ME, I WANT IN!!!"

As the race drew closer, I 'prepared'. Tucked in large-t (yes, waaay to big for me, but let's be honest, ballers always wear ridiculously oversized clothes, THAT'S ME), looking around at my comp... I saw a swarm of them... chit chatting away with their so called poor excuses for 'moms'... laughing, eating popcorn, playing with their retarded undersized poodle dog that was called Mr. Jackson, picking noses (one kid ate 'it'), and to what I thought was an unfair advantage, loading up on NOT carbs, but sugar... chowing down on candy... twix, suckers, snickers, laffy taffy... "Damn"... all that good stuff. I did have something my mom gave me, "strawberry gatorade"... And "Yes", I chugged it like no tomorrow.

We were called to the line, to what I estimate 12,000 kids jacked and ready. In reality, "probably" only a couple hundred kids. As we lined up on the practice football field, the course would start out going across the field, swinging around a baseball and softball fields, looping out to several other practices fields, and then coming back to finish the last 100 yards of the race 'sprinting' down the practice field we started on, finishing under the field goal post.

Just for the record, I was NOT one of those kids. By what I mean, "NOT one of those kids", I was not one of those kids that took out sprinting, forgetting that a mile was a hell of a long ways for us young tikes... I knew about pacing myself and had the mentality... a.k.a. 'smarts' not to take off like there's no tomorrow.

Right before the race, the race director stood out in front of the over hyper active kids... "kicking and screaming"... and announced.. "Yes... we will have a rabbit for you young men!"-"Come forth Antonio!" As the director announces this, a young and fit as can be looking man walks up beside the director. "This will be your rabbit, Antonio... he will run right in front of (I estimate at this time, he was roughly 28 years old) the leader of this race and will lead you through the course to make sure you kids know where you're going... he is good and can manage whatever pace". And then the director says something that will legally make my smarts pull a 180 degree turn, going light speed into the land of retardedness.... "Oops", I meant, "Intellectually disabledness". The director says, "Any of you are welcome to even pass Antonio, beat him if you can!" (followed by a cheezy 60 year old man laugh).

"How dare he taunt me! I WILL beat him!"

You know the drill... turn up your speakers... ALL THE WAY... right click this link and put it into another tab... it will be your background music. JUST DO IT!- www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEjgPh4SEmU

BANG! Gun goes off, Antonio is quick out to the front as he cuts forth to the middle, casually running out in front... "You're mine!". As my little legs stride out across the field, I was determined. Shoes chopping into the fresh cut grass, steady, but adreline powered breathing, I ran. Evenutally making Antonio my bitch. As I passed him, he smiled, and even had the nerve to say, "Go get it, buddy". Oh, "I WIL!". I continued to run and put more and more distance on Antonio, was he worried?... 'Probably'. I was one determined kid.

And then it hit. Lactic acid.

As my legs filled up with the body's mechanism for going out to fast, because the body can only hold a sustained pace, to which, the one I was holding, for roughly... 30 seconds.

If you were wondering, "Yes", I was only 30 seconds into the race at this time. Okay, I was more like 45 seconds to be honest.

Legs heavy as can be, like concrete with each stride that I brought forth, stomach churning in pain, lactic acid continuing to build, we made our first loop and were starting the loop around the other practice fields. At this time, I was still out in front. And it HURT, regardless of my true feelings at this time, which included, the urge to run off course into a parked car to stop the pain, I pusheded forward in first. To what I was told, "YOU GOT 30 YARDS on him!!!". A huge line of kids followed. The crowds gathered, people gathered to the extent, that you knew the course, as they filled each side, cheering on the runners. It was like a long dark tunnel, people on your right, people on your left... factored in with how bad I hurt, this had to be hell.

As we charged up a very small hill, Antonio passed me. Half way into the race, he began to put distance on me. The nerve of that guy! No matter, I gritted my teeth and tried to hang on. "Man, never again, THIS HURTS!". As my arms began to fill with lactic acid, I began to taste death. For your infomation, death taste like blood, pennies....and a weird tasting chicken... just to let you know. I began going numb, losing more and more mobility, but still hurting... HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?! Starting to become 'dazed and confused', I did what was only nautural at this time, 'run'. Regardless of not knowing what to really think or do, it was only natural. We all have a talent and an ability given by God (Everyone has some talent they are given in life, EVERYONE). At this time, my stock of how good of a runner I naturally was, was dropping. Although, I was blessed with one thing, and that was being a tough little booger. That was my talent. "Lucky me"...

As we were reaching the 100 yards to go mark, a short and choppy stride, coming onto the field/last straight-a-way, to which, was welcomed with the same crazy crowd that was encounted at the end of the first loop. Then, my excitement grew. Antonio... was slowing up... Coming back to life, my young peppy ballin' 5th grader self, thought of one thing, "BRING IT BITCH!" As we came across the 50 yard line... the 40, the 30, the 20... ('He could go all the way!!!')... I tried to close the gap. As he was within arms reach, I dug. Eyes closed, arms swinging side to side... spit... "everywhere". As the giant clock flashes 6.18 as we came through the line...


This will not be a good feeling story, as Antonio had sealed the Victory. Me, the defeated. Antonio casually walked over, no signs of pain, and said, "Good job little guy", rubbed the top of my head and trotted off. I fell to the ground and was grimacing in pain. As time ticked away, one kid came in, and then another and another. All casually walking away to their moms when they finished. I, on the other hand, lay there, breathing in an exaggerated manner, rolling side to side on the ground... "NEVER AGAIN.... NEVER!" I was finally able to get up, only to hurl every bit of that strawberry gatorade I chugged before hand, to which, I also hurled up things that I didn't even know existed... that is ANOTHER story.

Spit still on my face, well past the race, I got up. My mom just smiled and said, "You did really good!" I evenutally headed home and resumed my day to day activities of being a kid.

My running after that race... well there wasn't much of it to tell the truth. I did run a few other mile races come track (that is ANOTHER story), but never seriously got into running for another 2 and a half years... And then it was time. I started to train, and train. Mile after mile, I started to get 'fit'. My reasoning for training so hard at a young age was... "to beat Antonio"... "I want a rematch!!!"

To this very day, everytime I line up in my races, I look around. I look for 'him', where is he?!

There is only so long he can continue to duck me, and until he comes forth, I will continue to train 'balls to the wall', and look forward to the day... the day that I crush him!

One day... ONE DAY!!!

Till then, Another Day, Another Mile

-clay j. mayes the 3rd