The Bowen Road 5K

"Should I pee one more time?" I think to myself. "No, no, I'll be okay. I just went.

I'm packed together with hundreds of other runners, most of whom are wearing spandex and running shorts, and look much more professional than me, in my basketball shorts and baggy surf T-shirt.

I signed up for the 5k race a few weeks ago, thinking it would encourage me to exercise regularly in preparation. Now that I am at the starting line, the spirit of competition has taken hold, along with nervousness and doubt.

When I woke up this morning, at 6 am, and looked out at the torrential downpour, I figured the race will be cancelled.

"There's no way we can run in this!" I thought to myself "I mean at the very least it isn't safe".

I hurriedly turned on my computer to check for weather arrangements. Found it!

"Race will be cancelled in the case of a black rainfall warning, or class 8 typhoon"

Unsure of what exactly a black rainfall looks like, I check the official Hong Kong government weather page for today's warnings.

My heart sinks as I read "Amber rainstorm warning in effect".

"Who decides on this, totally arbitrary, stupid, colour system!" I say to no one in particular. "No one can go out in this, let alone run a race, it's 5k, it's fast, someone could get hurt!".

I phone the race organizers, who only advise to "Bring your rain gear" as the race is indeed still on.

"Rain gear!?" I think to myself "What, rain gear?"

I have an umbrella, but I hardly think it is going to help my race time. I'm now resigned to two choices, either suck it up and go, or crawl into my warm bed and sleep for another couple hours before work. I'm seriously leaning towards the latter.

At this point Serena has shown signs of movement on the bed, likely due to my incessant cursing from the other side of the room.

"You should go, if it's still on. Comon! you've been talking about this for weeks" She said, her voice dreamlike.

Following another 30 minutes of self-deliberation, and complaining about the race conditions, I head out in the rain.

Now I'm shuffling backwards, like a penguin with three hundred, or so, other anxious runners, overlooking downtown Hong Kong. The Bowen road 5k has some breathtaking views, though you are hardly able to enjoy them during the race.

"Please move back from the start line!" A voice booms from a megaphone.

Fortunately for us, the rain stopped about 15 minutes ago, and now the only thing on my mind is whether I should have gone to the bathroom once more.

I don't hear the starting signal, but suddenly the mob moves slowly forward. I find myself doing an awkward high stepping run, which is slower than my walking pace, but I am afraid to step on anyone's heels.

My stereotypical Canadian politeness, is causing me to drift toward the rear of the pack. However, as the group begins to thin, I pick up pace, like a large boulder nearing the edge of a cliff, I take off.

I transform, I am an antelope bounding across the Serengeti. No! scratch that. I am a cheetah and the other runners are antelope, and I begin to count how many I can catch.

1...2,3,4...5,6...7,8,9...

Suddenly, one particular limber animal bounds past in the opposite direction. I am about to turn and give chase, when I am shook from my trance.

"Wait, no. This isn't the turn around spot, the race has just started!" I think to myself "There's no way...".

Suddenly another runner hops by. I now begin to count those going in the opposite direction.

1,2,3,4,5,6,...

There are too many to count.

Doubt creeps into my mind.

"What if I need to stop and take a rest? Maybe I didn't train enough, I don't want to be sick for work later, maybe this was a mistake"

I put my head down and think of nothing.

"Just breath" I say to myself, "Just breath".

I reach the halfway point, and head back to the start/finish line. I am feeling good, I've managed to find the void in my mind, and am resting while my body carries me forward.
Suddenly, I am shook from this comfortable state, and I begin to feel something stirring within.

"It's okay." I say to myself "10 more minutes and you can use a toilet, just tough it out".

While I was so obsessed with doing number 1 before the race, my ignorance of number 2, may cost me. I grit my teeth, and keep moving forward. Unfortunately, this has also dropped my pace, as my mind becomes aware of the pain.

I am now moving like a wounded zebra, and it takes everything I have to keep from walking. Lions are now passing me, as I move awkwardly ahead on a broken leg.

I reach the final stretch where event organizers are yelling encouragement. I am able to pick up the pace slightly, and as I am about to be passed by a group that I had preyed on earlier, I switch to an awkward three legged sprint, and as a wounded zebra, labour across the finish line, mouth wide open, gasping for air.

This was by far the longest 21 minutes of my life; I now have a deeper understanding of the physical and mental struggles of competitive running, and I am humbled.

I limp forward, unsure of my surroundings, following my late surge. I see a public restroom and half walk, half jog, towards it.

Relief!