The Entry Blank

Ever since I ran the 25k for the first time a few years ago, I’ve wanted to get into the Two Hour Club, which is a thing you can be in if you run the 15.5 miles in two hours or less. That first year I came “close,” which is to say that we were about five minutes off the two-hour time.

As you may remember, I recently ran the Lansing Marathon with only five days’ notice and had a ridiculous PR. Around that time, I’d signed up at the last minute for the 25k, thinking that if nothing else it would count as a nice long run. But I didn’t believe that I would run a sub-2:00. I didn’t actually think much about it. Not thinking much about things has actually worked out quite well for me so far this season. I recalled briefly that in order to run less than 2:00 you need to run a 7:43 pace the entire time, or better. “Nah,” I thought. “Too hard.”

Then the marathon came and went and I thought, “Maybe.”

Then race day came and I thought, “…”

We drove to Grand Rapids early in the morning and napped on a couch in the DeVos Conference Center or whatever it is until it was time to get ready and line up. The crowd at the start line was crazy, as always, and I had decided at the last minute to go out with the Two Hour Club pace group. I worried that I wouldn’t get through the crowd in time, but I did.

The weather was perfect; overcast and cool, no snow, no rain. The people crowded around the three official pacers looked thin and prepared. Most of them were men.

Then the crowd moved forward—I love that moment before a race—and I looked down to check my belt one last time, and when I looked up the pace group had gone ahead. People were jogging now and those yellow signs had already gotten away from me.

For a single moment I considered that perhaps it was not meant to be, and I’d catch up with them later if I needed to, but then the race began and I knew I couldn’t let it come to that.

It took almost a mile to catch up with the pace group, but I did, those three tall men in their yellow shirts.

The thing about the pace group is that they were not running at my usual pace. What is my usual pace? I don’t know, but that wasn’t it. In fact, they were rolling along at about a 7:38. It took effort but it wasn’t devastating.

I did, however, realize early on that it was a race I would need to run with zero errors. I had an extra Gu on my belt and lo, it fell off within the first two miles, leaving me with three packets left and a half marathon to go. I had room for one mistake, and I’d made it at the start by not paying attention. There would be no wiggle room, no bathroom stops.

It’s not much of an exciting recap because I barely saw the scenery. All of my attention, from the moment I caught up to the group, was devoted to making sure that I was with them. All I cared to see were the yellow shirts.

At mile 8 I asked one of them what his name was. It was Charlie. “You look good today. Are you ready for this?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. Ready or not, we were halfway through the race.

Mile 9 and 10 came and went and at Mile 11 I remembered that first 25k and wanting to die at Mile 11 and 12, wanting to sit on the curb and quit, and I didn’t recognize that person. So close to the finish? What a stupid time to fall to pieces.

Halfway through Mile 11, in a fit of courage, I surged ahead of the pace group and immediately wondered if I’d made a huge mistake. However, more than anything, I did not want that pace group to stream by me while I slowed to a shuffle. So I didn’t.

Mile 12 ticked by, and 13, and at 14 I thought, “This could be when I do it.”

When I started running, those last miles seemed (and sometimes still seem) so long and arduous, but this year I’ve been able to look at them with more perspective. Compared to the marathon, mile 15 is barely a thing. If I could come in at a 7:45 at mile 26, why not anything else? What couldn’t I do?

It’s learning to recognize the feeling of fatigue and then dismiss it. If you’ve been there enough, it becomes less daunting and more familiar. I thought of the elite runners who burn out instead of always running a steady pace.

In the last half mile of the race I reached down to adjust my belt and a clip holding my bib fell to the ground and was gone, and I was so pleased with myself that I was laughing and laughing, and trying to hold the bib to my belt with one hand for several ridiculous moments before taking it off the belt completely and holding it in my hand.

In the last few feet of the race I heard the announcer say, “Anna Kramer from Lansing, carrying her number across the finish line!” I would not have let go of that bib for the world.

My time? 1:58:04. I ran a 7:37 average. I was 870th out of 5,377 runners and 147th or 2,521 women. TWO. HOUR. CLUB.

What’s next?

So last Friday while my sister drove over from Ann Arbor to pack my house for me because I’m a big slacker and too sentimental for my own good, I went running, as I am wont to do. I ran a fairly typical route from Trappers Cove, starting at the front sidewalk of our apartment, as I am wont to do.

Now, this route ends by running east (I think) up the hill on Cavanaugh Road, which ends at Dunkel, which borders the apartment complex. Over the years we lived at Trappers Cove I ran on this road many, many times. It is notable for the fact that there is no sidewalk for about a mile, and so I run just on the edge of the cement of the curb, facing traffic. Not ON the curb, mind you, but on that flat cement that meets with the road.

In my many trips on Cavanaugh I have learned that it is best to pay attention to where you’re putting your feet, but not too insanely, because the curb is where all the various grasses and things collect. Those “things” include (on occasion) dead animals, articles of clothing, and other random detritus. So as not to see dead animals, I usually look just hard enough to avoid stepping on them but not hard enough to actually witness them and burn them into my memory.

Sometimes, though, I haven’t been able to avoid looking and then staring like a very foolish person. Recently this happened with a dead snake on the opposite side of Cavanaugh and when I saw it, it took me a few paces to stop running and then I wheeled around and spent at least two minutes hovering around, wanting to look but NOT WANTING TO.

Anyway, there I was, running along the side of the road, about .65 miles from home in the bright sunny afternoon, when I looked down and my gaze caught sight of something moving.

Immediately I knew that it wasn’t just, like, a leaf blowing around; it was totally alive, or at least semi-alive, and reptilian, and my first uncontrolled reaction was to scream slightly and jump into the air, landing a few feet from the Thing and skidding to a stop.

I turned around, my heart pounding, and surveyed the situation from about four feet away. “Oh my god!” I shouted, at last finally seeing what the mysterious creature was.

It was a turtle, and it was very, very alive.

I clutched at my iPhone headphones like pearls and stepped up actually onto the curb, backing away until I was about ten feet down the road from the turtle. “Oh my god, gross,” I said, and turned to run away, but then the turtle started really moving.

It was trying to climb over the curb, and it started by getting itself into just a bizarre position. You can tell I was far away because this is obviously a digital zoom picture.

“What is it DOING?” I said, unable to tear my gaze away but unwilling to get any closer. Then it flapped its little flippers onto the curb and started this grotesque climbing motion. My heart was seriously pounding then. What was I about to witness?

Before it could find purchase with its hind legs, it lost its grip and tumbled backward into the grass. “OH MY GOD!” I shouted, totally freaked out, and I turned away. What if it had died from the impact? DID I JUST WITNESS THE FALLING DEATH OF A TURTLE?

Then my conscience kicked in. What if the turtle couldn’t flip back over? What if it got run over by a car? WHAT IF IT DIED ALL BECAUSE I WAS TOO TERRIFIED TO SAVE IT?

I got about three feet closer, but then it started to wave its legs around and that made me feel just gross so I looked away and got to texting. The texting wasn’t very helpful, but in a flash of inspiration I decided to call my sister, who was probably close.

When she answered I shouted, “OH MY GOD CAITLIN WHERE ARE YOU?” in a tone that was much too alarmist for the situation but couldn’t be helped.

“On campus!” she said. “Are you okay?”

“YES!” I shouted. “But there’s a turtle on the side of the road and it can’t get onto the curb!”

While I yelled at her I had been looking away, and when I looked back the turtle had somehow flipped BACK over and had started to sprint toward me at an ungodly speed. If someone didn’t arrive soon, the turtle was actually going to catch up with me. My soul filled with horror.

“It can’t do anything. Just pick it up and put it in the grass,” said Caitlin, not comprehending why this was a big deal at all.

“NO, SICK!” I shouted. “I CAN’T TOUCH IT! But it’s sprinting! What if it sprints out into the road and I SEE A TURTLE GET HIT BY A CAR?! Can Drew come and save it?” Drew is my sister’s husband.

“No!” said Caitlin. “I’m dropping him off on campus, and we won’t be there in time. Just pick it up!”

Instead I backed away even more, because by this point the turtle was straight up running down the road toward me.

Then, suddenly, it stopped and faced the curb again.

“IT’S TRYING TO CLIMB AGAIN! IT’S TRYING TO CLIMB!”

I could not even avert my eyes as it made one more valiant struggle to climb the curb. As its front legs scrabbled for purchase I stood clutching at my iPhone, ready to shield my eyes with my other hand should it tumble back to the cement again.

There was a long, tense moment, and then…

…it was over the curb and in the grass.

“It made it! It made it!” I shouted, and then told Caitlin I’d see her soon and hung up the phone.

With adrenaline pumping through my entire body like I’d just escaped my own death, I snapped a couple of pictures with my phone and then turned to go. At that moment a car pulled over and the people inside asked me if I was all right. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Totally. Thanks!”

And then I ran an extra mile just to calm down.

Moral of the story: turtles are everywhere, especially when you don’t expect them.