'FROSTY' and the epic battle of youth versus experience....

As Bett Middler once said 'after thirty a body has a mind of its own', and having seen photos of her in recent years, she should know.  Personally, I didn't think thirty was so bad, there were the constant gaining and losing of weight with having kids and a few more laughter lines - no biggy?  Then forty crept up and it really wasn't as bad as everyone said; if anything I lost a little of the youthful chubbiness to my face and enjoyed a hint of definition, a suspicion of a cheek bone.  Then one day around my 43rd birthday I woke up needing reading glasses, with a face that looked suspiciously like Robert Plant's (and not his early years, I might add), and a bum that was starting to resemble my morning bowl of oatmeal...what happened?

Being able to run faster or longer has been the only positive in this slow decay of flesh. The glorious thing about having been an absolute slob as a kid is that I have no PR's to look back on with nostalgia. The most exercise I did until I was in my thirties was to walk to and from the pub.  As each birthday approaches now I can at least celebrate the fact that moving up to the 45 age group means I might do better in races.  Happily my age advances, so do my times. This is the only thing that seems to improve in terms of my physical being.  Like the painter who never wants to finish the last painting, I feel the need to always have a race to look forward to.  Perhaps running is my way of avoiding the inevitable slow down and decay of old age - heck, running darn well makes you feel immortal, perhaps you can even cheat death if you run fast enough?

This past weekend saw the great Frostbite 5 Mile race in Ambler - a wonderful tradition where young and old get to duke it out on a hilly, winding course.  Kids in their early teens, and eighty year olds take to the same course to run their hearts out.  For years I ran with one kid or another, happy to avoid the stress of racing and hiding behind the need to get them to the finish line in a good mood, and to make, or beat their goal time.  This year there was no hiding....L'il bitch was running his third Frosty, but as he had out run me in several 5k's last year, I didn't feel the need to 'coach him'.  The fact that he had swum instead of run all winter didn't soften me any, I wasn't going to make it my mission to get him through the race.  At the ripe old age of thirteen he had to be responsible for his own destiny and lack of training and in the words of like minded mothers out there it was going to be a case of 'suck it up kiddo'.

I started the race alongside L'il bitch and his best friend's kid brother, who had at the grand old age of 11 was clearly ready to try his hand at his first Frosty.  The pace was fast and furious by my standards for the first mile, we went out at around a 6.30 mile, which sounds more impressive than it was, but it was mostly downhill.  Within a half mile the 11 year old's consistent winter training had paid off, and he was way ahead of me, and even my son was ten feet infront.  But I knew this too would pass. By the second mile I had a momentary maternal pang as I passed my son, and then reminded myself that 'bugger it, he really has to do this one on his own' and with a few year's of therapy he will understand my need to pass him at this point.  By the middle of the race, pounding up Bright's Lane, I found myself running alongside a high school girl from the track and cross country team who I had run similar times to at other races. We ran together for a little while, until I pointed out a girl up ahead in hot purple shorts and said 'go take the fast chickie ahead' to urge the girl on to maintain her pace.  Clearly this was less than motivating!  I sensed her resolve drifting away as she started to hang back, so I pressed on, running my consistent pace, and entered the trail section of the run - my favourite part.

Half way into the trail the girl in the hot shorts was dead in the water as I surged past her.  I congratulated myself and pondered the fact that  age brings wisdom and the knowledge, that whilst anyone can go out fast, holding pace mid race is something that only comes with age or experience.  The rest of the final mile was spent simply hanging on and was about that mental strength that allows you to externalize and break out of your own private world of suffering.  Instead of battling your own demons age tells you to remember that the people around you are easily in worse torture than you, and you will prevail.

Surprisingly, as I made my way up the final hill to the high school I found the 16 year old high school girl magically along side me again - she had battled through her mid race lull and was back for more.  Now, I know that I have about as much kick as a grain fed three legged donkey at the best of times, and wouldn't normally attempt to sprint, until the finish line was fully in view.  For some reason I decided it was time to take one for 'team old folk' and stupidly found myself trying to outsprint the girl with 600 meters to go; a pitiful and painful sight for the many spectators.  Soaring past the High School and then turning into the parking lot with full velocity, the girl did what she came to the race to do - to show that in the end youth and strong legs are a potent mix, as she sailed past me through the chute with grace and authority.  Only the harsh clarity of race photography shows how bad it looks when middle aged women try really hard to do something that doesn't come naturally.

The pinnacle of my day was after crossing the finish line I gave the high schooler a congratulatory pat on the back and said 'good......but instead of job...all that came out was a dry heave, as I spent the next ten minutes trying not to throw up all over the poor girl's sneakers. "Thanks. I've been working on my finish," she said - No Kidding!