Mission 10–The Start of Racing Season

Another Rotary Mission 10 (mile) and 5K race, in San Juan Bautista, sponsored by the Hollister Rotary Club, is in the books. I overheard somebody say that this was something like the thirty-first running of the Mission 10. I have probably run six or seven of these—I’m not sure exactly—but even though we are barely a month into winter, The Mission 10, coming at the end of January, always seems like the start of the “spring” racing season. And this is a good race to begin the New Year: Ten miles is an unusual distance these days, but it is a very good test. Longer than a 10K but shorter than a half marathon, ten miles is long enough to remind you that this it is a long way, so if you have plans to run anything longer this year—half marathon or marathon— you need to start ramping up the mileage.
A couple hundred people milled around in the street—just in front of the historic San Juan Bautista Mission—for the 10:00 start of the 10-miler (the 5K, with 170 runners, started 15. Standing in the 10-mile queue with my running club, I tucked in behind our speedier club members so that I wouldn’t try to keep up with them. After about a mile, the pack starts to spread out into a long thin line, although it’s never really crowded, even at the start. The woman ahead of me, running with a black Cocker Spaniel and making pretty good time, let her dog off its leash somewhere between miles 2 and 3. The dog stayed close to her, but crossed in front of me a couple of times, which made me a little nervous, so I pulled ahead of them.
Some people thought that the heat affected them; I didn’t think so, but I did take advantage of all the water stops—I would grab a paper cup from the hand of a volunteer, pinch it into a “V” for easier drinking, and take 2 or 3 quick swallows—all on the run. I picked up John Vetrano, from my running club, just before the big hill, so we pulled each other up and to the turnaround. This hill portion forms the stem of this “lollipop” course, where everyone along this section runs in one direction on the way out, then turns around and runs back in the opposite direction on the same road: So while most of us are still struggling up the hill, we get to see all the top runners racing back to the start in the opposite direction. You get to yell, “Good job!” as they zoom past. But then you hit the turnaround, and you get to greet your friends who are behind you working their way up the hill. Whether you’re racing to cross the finish line first or racing against your buddies, age group, or the clock, it doesn’t matter: Everyone is working to his or her own capability.
Running down hill, after the turnaround, is fun, you build some speed and gain back some of the time that you lost running uphill; soon after the downhill ends, though, you come down to the flats, hit the last water station before the finish, run a short ways, and make a hard right. Now, the road stretches out forever before you have to turn, and, when you do turn, the road ahead is also long and  road stretches out even more. The roadway running surface is smooth and easy to run on, but the roads are quite cambered, enough that it’s  a struggle deciding on the best line—Do you run down the centerline or near the edge where the dirt fields meet the tarmac; either way, it saps some of your energy just maneuvering side-to-side on the road, moving up and down the camber.
Near the end, with three to four miles to the finish line, there are very few ahead of me, but I know from the out-and-back that there are at least four or five guys in my age group ahead of me, so I’m not going to make the podium. Still, near the end, I spot a white-haired gentleman in the distance. I set my sights on him, and I can see that I’m gaining, approaching atglacial speed. But, little by little, the distance shortens, until back in the village of San Juan Bautista, and within the last straightaway, I catch and just pass him a quarter of a mile before the finish line. It turns out that he is not even in my age group; however, this is the “race within the race,” the part that keeps us going no matter where we fall on the finisher’s chart; because as long as we run our best, then everyone is a winner.
Gotta run,
Craig Lore