Oral Cancer 5K

Oral Cancer 5K

Rangley, Colorado

The weather last night here in Rangely, Colorado was cold and rainy, and snowy at just five hundred five higher elevation, so I halfway expected to wake up to snow on the ground. But no, this morning is sunny, dry pavement, if still cool: people at Registration are wearing winter coats, though runners are in jackets or hoodies, with long pants of some kind. I am the only one in shorts, and regretting that decision. At least the race starts at 8:30 rather than, say, 7:00. Enough for the sun to come up and warm things a bit.

This is my last race here in Rangely (population 1500) in the northwestern corner of Colorado. A goodbye as I finish my semester teaching and go on to other adventures. I’d hoped to get more in shape these last two years after a previous two or three years of injuries, including a broken heel bone and a fractured ankle, both in the right foot. (Note: not from barefoot running, though the heel break happened when I was barefoot and landed hard on a wood floor, and the ankle was on a backpacking trip wearing huaraches). Rangely has a lot of dirt roads, and I’d hoped to get maybe back up to marathon levels, but it just hasn’t happened. I could maybe run a half-marathon, just on mental effort, but I fear my big running days are over: after being out, and gaining some weight, and just getting used to doing other things, I’m not sure I even want to run that much anymore. Which makes me sad to say. So, I’ve only this last year ever been running up to an hour at a time. One thing, motivation-wise, is being so far from civilization here in Rangely that races just are not usually an option, except for these occasional 5Ks.

The organization for this race has been about what all events here in Rangely are like: unorganized. First it was a run, then it got labeled a walk, and then the flyer for it I didn’t even realize was the flyer for the event, since the big letters said Oral Cancer, and in small type were the words 5K walk. A good flyer should be readable from ten feet away, and a race flyer should have to the 5K part in huge bold letter, with the charity in small letters: no one really cares about the charity, they want the run. Anyways, mostly stuff gets around by word of mouth here in a small town like this. But there seem to be about seven runners and maybe ten walkers—smaller than even the other two small 5Ks I’ve run here. But, I’m grateful there is a run and I shouldn’t complain. I just have that personality where if something isn’t being run well I want to step in and run it right.

This is a charity run for Oral Cancer, put on by the Dental Hygiene department at the community college where I teach, Colorado Northwestern Community College. The organizer, one of our instructors, whose name I can’t remember, gives a little speech beforehand with, for example, the statistic that one person dies from oral cancer every hour. So, wow. You may see more of this charity, as she told me she basically got a ‘kit’ from the main charity on how to put on a race.

 After a group photo, we vaguely line up under the balloon arch and someone says go, and we go. The group of six or so young twenty-something runners take off, with me a little behind, then the walkers, one of whom says, “Oh, is this a run? Are we running? I guess we’re running!” A half a minute later she’s like, “Ok, that’s enough.”

This is an ‘out and back’. We curve around the park to the west, do a zig at the baseball field, then a zag that gets us on a long straight paved road that heads out of town on the south side of the Rio Blanco. It eventually turns into a dirt road, but we won’t go that far before we turn around. And I am out of breath. I tried not to sprint out the start and I swear I’m doing my normal penguin waddle, but I am gasping for air. There is a slight uphill at this point, and just the excitement of running with other people. I try and calm my breath.

Kind of gritty right by the park, and I run on the yellow divider paint in the middle for a smoother surface. I’ve been shod all winter, getting out in my huaraches on the super gravelly roads around town, but only recently going out for barefoot walks to start building up my soles, especially earlier this week to prepare, which I think I overdid, so actually still a little raw feeling to start. Plus the cold makes bare feet more sensitive. But, I’ve run the Detroit Marathon in November, I know cold, and know that my feet will warm up in a bit as they get blood pumping to them. And it’s only a 5K: that’s my thought, that no matter what, it’s only 5K, no matter what happens, I’ll finish.

The river road does smooth out, and straighten out, though now there is a brutal cold headwind, coming up the river valley. The fast runners are farther and farther ahead, staying in a group. Looking back, the walkers are just turning the bend. So, it has finally come to this: I am the Last Runner. Given, there’s only seven of us, but still, it’s kind of a tough realization. Oh well. I’m twice the age of any other runner. I still got game!

I had asked the organizer is she’d had to coordinate with any police or anything to close city streets and she said the city just didn’t care. So, we’re on out own, and there is regular traffic on this road. Not a lot, but one truck seems particularly annoyed that the front pack of runners is taking up his whole road and honks at them. To their credit, they don’t move and he has to go around. Any other vehicle just seems surprised to see us. We’re not even wearing race tags or anything—we could just be, and basically are, randos out running.

The feets are ok! A little raw still, but now warmed up and don’t feel cold, though the headwind persists, and my two shirts and a shell jacket feels about right. The lead runners come back at me on the ‘back’ portion and we wave. They look at me oddly: I think I have their respect for the bare feet, if not the time. But, my time would be the same if I had shoes on. I don’t feel lithe and free, but I don’t feel encumbered either. But there is the turnaround: three women with a truck by the side of the road, and a table with some bottled water, which I pass on: water during this short a race would just make me feel sloshy.

Alas, since the road soon turn to dirt at this point, this lane of the road is much more gritty, from all the vehicles coming into town bringing some of the gravel in their tires. I try the middle yellow line a while, then find a long line of crack-sealing tar and that gets me to the point where the stray gravel starts to diminish. Over half way. My breathing is back to normal, has been, and I’m in simple trudge mode. Wind at my back now feels like no wind at all.

The running pack is long gone from my sight, but now I’m passing the walkers on their ‘out’ phase. See a couple colleagues. One young woman films me on her phone, yelling, “Woo hoo!” I guess I’ll be the conversation later today. “Dude, there was like this crazy guy running barefoot! I think he teaches english or something.”

Once off the country road, taking me home, to the place, where I belong, only now do I realize I didn’t bring a watch, and I haven’t been timing myself. Wow. Usually I’m pretty good about that. I guess shows my mental state: just go and finish. And I am the lone wolf, in between the good runners and the walkers. Back to the park, back to the gritty road, hard to get a sprint on, back around the corner and up to the balloon arch where some folks clap me in. The Last Runner. It’ll be fifteen/twenty minutes before the walkers come around.

I ask to see if anyone is keeping track of time, no clock is visible, and no, no one is. One of the other runners whom I know, a student, says she finished at around thirty minutes, and I’m about three minutes behind her, so ok. There was a time when I ran a 5K in 21 minutes, I swear. But, I’m just happy and grateful to still be out running! Time for a banana.

 

Becky's Walk: 5K Run Walk Bike

Becky’s Walk 5K

Saturday August 21^st, 2021 

Rangely, CO United States

This race, like most things here in Rangely, Colorado, is not that well organized, at least in the ‘sign up’ and ‘get the word out’ stage. But, I’m here, on a cool overcast Saturday morning, which in August, around here, in the high desert of Colorado, is a blessing. The ladies at the check-in desk are all friendly, and even know my name, which happens in a small town. Except to me: I can’t remember names at all, to an embarrassing degree.

This is a 5K run/walk. Becky’s Walk. Third annual. Benefit for Multiple Sclerosis. Becky was a local. I think this is put on by her relatives. There are only only 25 folks signed up total, which seems a shame. I know there are some runners in town who aren’t here. Ah well. I’m first to arrive, so I get the number one bib! Ha! It’s been a while since I’ve done any kind of run. Three main reasons: 1. being a fire lookout doesn’t allow for much exercise, period (an excuse perhaps, but yes). 2. Poverty: Just couldn’t afford to run those longer $200 races for a long while there. 3. Injuries: I’ve broken my right foot two different times in the last maybe three years and I’m still not quite one hundred percent on it. May never be, is how it feels, even though I have been running regularly, and hiking.

So, I’m out of shape. Gone are the days of marathon running. But, it’s a 5K. I can do that in my sleep. The only question I have is whether the race is going to be up in the gravel roads around town, or on pavement here in town, and it’s the later. If it had been on the gravel, I might have worn my huaraches, my Xero Genesis. The gravel fairies around here are fairly liberal with their gravel, so I’ve mostly been running minimalist this past year. Also, gotta admit, being a new person in a small town, where I’m already an eccentric English teacher at the community college, I confess I’ve been self-conscious about going barefoot around here.

But, here I am, standing in the Elks Park parking lot, barefoot, suffering the gazes of the locals, who all know each other. Well, time for some barefoot pride. Represent!

A guy gives a pre-race speech. I think he knew Becky. But, says he checked recent info on research into MS, and that there are four new medications developed in the last year, and that money raised here will help go for that. So, right on.

We line up. Yeah, there’s maybe ten of us who are actually running. And most of them are youngsters, probably on the junior high cross-country team. No age categories for this one. Actually, the other two older runners are dudes maybe around my age. So, I may be last of the runners, in any category. Ha. So be it.

We’re off! I have no idea where I’m going. Supposedly there are spray-painted arrows to direct us, but maybe I can stay in sight of the youngsters. Use them as rabbits.

I do a fairly quick start, not a full-on sprint or anything, but it’s slightly uphill and man, I am just winded, sucking air already. Calm, John, calm. Breathe. This is just a local 5K run, no need to get all nervous. Except now I have to piss too. Argh.

We head down the short bike trail. One like five year old girl runs alongside me for a while. Excellent!But she tires out pretty quick and goes to walking. The youngsters are all out in front, plus one older guy, who looks like a long-distance runner: skinny. I used to be like that. But hey! I’m barefoot! Feels great! Why don’t I do this more often? But at least hiking and running in the Genesis huaraches has still given me good calluses. We cut on to a road, and there’s an empty lot with trees. I duck in to use the boy’s room, and get passed by two runners, the other older guy and a girl of about 13. The walkers are not in sight. So, I’m now the last runner, as predicted.

We go past the high school then up White Avenue? I think? I don’t even know all these neighborhood roads. But, uphill, ugh, for a bit, then left and down through an area I’ve never been before, tucked away, downhill. I try to lean forward, let gravity lead me. Just lifting the feet. Trying to maintain at least a brisk trudge. At least I don’t feel winded anymore. But neither do I feel sleek.

We cross Main Street, north, with a local Sheriff there to stop traffic, though there is none. I thank him. He stares at my feet. Like he wants to arrest me for being barefoot. Ha! If I wasn’t in a race, maybe he would!

We go north one block, then cut left again, heading west, for a long straightaway. Here, the thirteen-year-old ahead of me slows to a walk. She’s wearing a knee brace, hope she’s not aggravating it. I give her a wave. The second older dude is a couple block ahead of me, with the gaggle of youngsters way out, all sticking together. Right on. We’re all setting off the local dogs to barking. Having had some bad experiences with dogs around here, I’m expecting Cujo to come jumping a fence at me, but no.

This road is a bit gritty. Couple places where I swerve to avoid potholes. One place I can’t, just grin and bear going over the gravel. But, all good. Again, it’s a 5K, I can survive anything. And I must be over halfway, I think? Surely? Don’t call me Shirley!

Quiet. Only a few folks out in their yards this morning. Oh Rangely, with your battered down house and economy. The coal plants shutting down soon. Will people stay? Nearest grocery store is 45 minutes/miles away in Vernal, Utah. Or go an hour and twenty south to Grand Junction. Going to any other races will require an overnight stay.

Anyways, another left, back up (or, south) to Main Street, cross, wave to the police, into the small park, past the one hotel (the other two motels out of business). I run up on the sidewalk here: the cement way smoother and less gritty than the pavement at this point. Out past the two apartment buildings, which the locals call A and B. B is condemned. Past the almost empty trailer park. I have lost sight of anybody—no one in front, no one behind. Story of my life, somehow. But, back on the pavement, the spray-painted arrows have been accurate and visible. Another left et voilà, there’s Elks Park! I’m almost there! Maybe I should increase speed, to at least look, if not be, respectable!

I quick trot around the corner across the finish line at the parking lot, with a small group of observers clapping me in. That’s nice. One of the youngster runners looks at me and says loudly, “Wow, dude don’t have no shoes!”

The first three finishers are gathering for a photo: Looks like the one in-shape older dude made it in there with two of the youngster boys! Excellent! They get something in an envelope, not sure what. No medals or anything for the rest of us. Which is fine. The other older dude I see walking it off in the parking lot. I don’t think I was behind him too much. My time: 31:31. So, ten minute miles. Not my best 5K. I think I’ve done one in 21 minutes one time. Ah well. But yeah, I’m the last. The girl with the knee brace isn’t in sight, and the walkers are all about halfway at this point.

I am content. To run barefoot again, that’s all the really matters. My feet feel fine, great even. Time to head back to my apartment for as hot shower!