I think I can, I think I can: But those Blue Ridge Avenue hills are brutal

By Catherine Amos

Published: July 9, 2008

At 6:45 a.m. on July 4, the queasy feeling of anxiety had begun to develop in the pit of my stomach.

An hour later, the air outside was already heavy with humidity and my apprehension. Nothing good could come of what was about to happen.

Except that something did.

Completing a 5K race may not seem like a lot to anyone who is a regular runner. But for me, running — er, jogging — across the finish line at the end of a grueling 3.1 miles was an enormous accomplishment.

I am no runner by any means. So a few weeks ago when Cheryl Walker, one of our freelance writers, proposed the idea of running the Freedom 5K with her, I laughed.

“Oh come on,” she pushed. “We can walk the hills and run the flat parts. It’ll be fun!”

Sounded more like torture.

“No thanks,” I said. But she wouldn’t hear it. “OK, I’ll think about it.”

That week I took to the treadmill to see just how far I could run. Turns out it was more than I expected.

Of course, my pace was slow and I only jogged one mile at a time, taking breaks to walk. But I finished three miles nonetheless. I repeated that workout the next few times I went to the gym and agreed to race.

But my enthusiasm waned when my alarm sounded early Friday morning.

I told myself it didn’t matter how fast I ran, I just wanted to finish. That was my goal. Oh, and to not come in last.

As we gathered behind the start line, I thought, “I can do this. Right? I can do this. It’s only three miles. I do that at the gym all the time.”

Then it was go time.

Cheryl and I started walking, but quickly realized that nobody starts out walking. By the time we reached Yowell Meadow Park, the sharp pain of shin splints was growing in my legs and I was considerably more tired than I should have been.

Nevertheless, I had agreed to jog around the park. It was only a mile, after all. But the difference in running outside versus indoors on a flat treadmill in a climate-controlled environment was staggering.

After rounding the first quarter mile of the trail, Cheryl offered to take a walking break. I eagerly accepted.

“OK, we’ll walk for one minute,” she said. “You’ll be amazed what one minute will do for you.”

That was the fastest 60 seconds of my life.

We began to jog again and before long, I needed another break. But I pushed on; I knew I could finish the trail. It felt like an eternity before we reached the water station — I almost wondered if it was a mirage.

I grabbed a green paper cup, but only about half of the satisfyingly cold water made it to my mouth. The rest spilled down the front of my pink T-shirt as I desperately gulped what I could before catching up with Cheryl.

We were two-thirds of the way done, but the worst was still to come. Trudging up the hills of Blue Ridge Avenue, my feet pounded on the pavement as my heart pounded in my chest. We reached the peak of the final hill and there it was — the sign for Southgate Shopping Center. We were almost back.

We ran the final stretch because, “You can’t walk to the finish line,” Cheryl said.

“Go 320! You’re almost there,” people yelled as I grew closer to the flags. Those genuine shouts of encouragement helped push me towards the finish line, giving me a last nudge of motivation.

And then it happened: I finished my first race.

I finished in 42 minutes — I never said I was fast — but it was actually four minutes faster than I’ve ever gone on the treadmill. And I wasn’t last, either. Not that there’s anything wrong with being last, but not being last felt pretty good.

I was euphoric, until I realized what my third goal of the race should have been: to not throw up. I’ve never felt ill after exercising before, but that morning I thought I might actually puke. I repeatedly filled my lungs with air until the nausea subsided.

When the realization of my accomplishment hit me, I felt as if I could do anything. But I never could have done it without Cheryl, encouraging me with each stride. Thanks for making me do it, even if you had to twist my arm.

I wore my race tag, with pride in my heart and a smile on my face, all the way home.

Catherine Amos is already training to run the Monument Avenue 10K in Richmond next April. She can be reached at 825-0771 ext. 138 or .