Outkick The Cheater!

Today was the fourth annual (Insert race name here) 10K in Oaxaca's Parque Llano. Why don't I know the name of this race??? I ran unofficially to get a workout, as I'm in the early stages of the next Half Marathon buildup. As the Grumpy Runner, do I have to know the name of every damn race?! Heck no.

It's yet another Sunday morning 10K in Parque Llano, Oaxaca's premiere venue for such events. This is a gorgeous park in the Centro neighborhood of my adopted city. I love these Sunday a.m. runs, they are convivial, boisterous and fun. The field is always pretty good, this mile high city is a real running town. An extra strong field is on hand today, with prize money on offer. A couple of the local Kenyans who live and train around here show up, sniffing a payday, and even chubby grandmother runners put their best foot forward when there is prize money on the line.

Me, I'm looking for a workout. I'd had a 24 hour bug earlier this week and I was happy just to be there. I do not pay the 200 peso entry fee so I am not in the money hunt. As an aside, it's perfectly acceptable here to run with no number. No race official or announcer hassles you on the course or at the finish.

I believe this is how it should be! I grew up racing in New England small town runs where this was acceptable. I almost always ran with a number, but no one bothered me when I didn't. Sometimes I just plain could not afford it. No big deal. But back to the subject at hand...

The gun goes off and we settle in. A pretty clean start for a Oaxacan race, things can get messy/chaotic here--runners bunching at the start line, pouring over, group false starts that never come back, but not today.

I settle in at a modest clip and I'm pleased to feel half decent! An honest pace, but not pushing my luck. Maybe 5:00 per kilometer. I'm coming off a PR 1:44:35 half marathon a month back (yup, a sea level race), but I've taken time off. No rush today.

But here's a dude with a shock of wavy gray hair, he wants to race. You go for it pal, I'm just minding my own groove. But every time I inch up on Mr. Hair, he takes off. I guess he figures we're competing for the 50+ division payday, fair enough. I pay no mind, looking to relax and hit a good rhythm.

Now we're rolling pretty good, not great, through 2, 3, 4K. It's an out-and-back course, I'm inching up on hair guy again at the turnaround. My middle distance past pops out of nowhere, I take the turn and put on a burst to get by Mr. Hair and another dude. Why not keep pressing? I like the idea of running a bit faster than my comfort level in a race, and manage a good kilometer surge. Pass a couple-few runners.

Coming back to earth, I hit a mild rough patch as we dip under an overpass and then climb up from it. One or two short, stocky Oaxacans ease by me on the uphill. We run by a big 7K marker (the only distance marker in the race?!) and I see 35:20 on my watch. OK, good workout in hand. Just want to finish in good order.

I'm working a bit to keep pace with the folks around me. We're running city blocks and taking 90 degree turns here and there, we don't run on Calle Calzada de Republica, a diagonal street that would be the quickest return to Parque Llano, gotta get in those 10 kilometers, yes we do!

With maybe 2K to go, two guys come up from behind, going pretty good. Without thought, I settle in with them and hitch a ride. This hurts, but it's do-able. After 5 - 600 meters, I have to let go but now we can sniff the finish.

I'm back to trying to keep pace with runners around me--I look up and to my great surprise... it's Mr. Hair! He's unmistakable, a skinny dude in running tights (amongst stocky Oaxacans in their shorts). When the heck did he pass me??? Answer: He didn't!

Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yes! Hair guy is so intent on a run for the prize money, he cut across the course on the diagonal street and shaved off a goodly chunk of meters, emerging in better position. There are very few course monitors out there, so it's do-able. I see it all in a flash, there's no way this guy passed me.

We're 800 meters to go and hair guy is right in front of me. I'm hurting pretty good from my two surges, but I stalk him. Seems I can hold on, working the rhythm. We're around the penultimate bend, and those who have something still in the tank pick it up. I'm next to Hairball now as the pace increases. I think, "I own you, dude". Yes, I was a miler in college, these instincts never go away, really. I'm 58 years old and nowhere's near as fast as I used to be, but I'm a bit pissed just now and I'm thinking, "What would Mo do?".

I'm waiting, I don't go too soon. Lay down your cards hair guy, let's see what your cheating butt has left in it! He tries to take off with about 180 to go and I cover that. OK, my turn, and I'm away. Take the last turn and hit the gas. Take it up to a good middle distance cruise if not an actual sprint. Through the line and I don't look back. I like to chat with fellow runners after the race, but what am I going to say? "Did you plan ahead to cut the course, or was it spur of the moment?"

OK, I freely admit, Mr. Hair might have somehow slipped by unnoticed. It happens. But I was pretty aware over this run, and noticed a couple very stocky Oaxacans in shorts going by in the second half, but nary a skinny dudes in tights. In the end, it pulled me to a 1/2 decent race. I was surprised to check my watch and see 49:57. Not that fast, but for today I'll take it.

Want to schedule a Oaxaca hill/trail running tour? Email Steve