Does 40 = Fiercer, More Fearless?

Today something that I had never really imagined happened. I became something that I never really imagined.

Home on my summer paradise and native land of Prince Edward Island x 10 days with my children, I lined up some excellent running. My kids are happy at Nana’s house (thank you eternally, Nana!). I would run in my happy places: country roads and against the backdrop of ocean, sand dunes and pristine beach. I would also get to run with some good friends.

I planned to do Atlantic Chip’s Good Clean Run while home and to treat it as a 5km time trial. I’ve been running really well. Since COVID quarantine/lockdown began, I set a set May 10km PB and have lowered my mile PB twice. The second mile PB of 5:22 was last week, on my 40th birthday, a fun early am event I organized with some amazing women.

Fuelled by this, I hatched a plan with longtime friend and Islander back on the Island, Jennie, to run 5km time trials together. Racing Jennie often includes some pace help from her husband Michael, of national fame as he just set a World Record Joggling 5km with a blistering 16:50 (read here!). I told my run pals in Halifax that I was doing this and that I was going to run an age 40, #fasterasamaster PB. I was putting it out there to the running universe.

Jennie is the Island friend to do this with. To borrow/adopt a phrase from friend and Canada Record Holder in W50 Marathon, Denise, we will make each other bleed for it. We worked out together on Saturday am. I loved what I saw. While she’s nursing misbehaving achilles, Jennie is fiercely fit.

I ran my shake-out run on Tuesday from my parents’ home. 20 minutes + strides. When I got back to the house, I thought to myself: ‘Girl, you are as healthy and as fast and as fit as you have ever been.’ I was excited to see what I could do with Jennie and Michael.

At family supper, my 6 year old son asked me, “Are you running a real race tomorrow? Or a made up one?” A good reminder not to take myself too seriously, lol! I told him that it was a little bit both.

Fast forward to this morning, 6:45am, meeting Jennie for warm-up at Cavendish Beach National Park. Dunes. Ocean. Beach. My happy place.

Warm up is unremarkable, a standard superstitious 17 minutes exactly per Mr. Hashem. I don’t feel anything special. I do have on my special ASICS vintage crop top from Mr. Hashem, it’s about 30 years old. That’s special.

Drills and strides. I have that pop that I am always looking for on race day.

I have flopped more times in 5km races than I have knocked it outta the park. I spent 6 YEARS trying to run a sub-19 5km before finally achieving it last summer on PEI. This still stands as my PB at 18:38. Per friend Andrew Wagstaff: Erin runs faster on PEI. It’s time to find out if I run faster as a master too, now that I am 40.

And you know what happened? I think that all of my years of race experience finally accumulated and came together on the same day as I laced up as healthy, fit and fast as I have ever been. Are you fiercer at age 40? More fearless? I think YES.

Here’s how it went down, as much as I can remember as it was fast and furious:

I walked to the starting line to join Michael and Jennie. As I was walking there, I had a thought, “I don’t feel like doing this today.” That would be Evil B*tch Brain. I give the thought no cares, no value and respond:

“Yes today. Michael and Jennie are here and so am I. Yes today.”

Michael is clowning around, announcing the start line. Of 2 women, lol. It’s light and fun and perfectly Michael. Michael and Jennie have measured this 5km course with a wheel, it’s the real deal. It’s 560m loops in the Cavendish Beach National Park Parking Lot. Michael gives one final run through of where to run. I got it. And/or, I will just run alongside Michael who knows it.

And we are off.

I know how to do the first km and I do it. Relaxed. Get the effort right. Head up. Body relaxed. Stride strong and powerful. The km clicks off, I feel exactly like I want to. Jennie isn’t in step with us from the start and I don’t spend too much time thinking about why or who is fast or who is slow in this opening km.

I do look at my watch when it rings the 1km split. I don’t think the number is correct. “I’m not going to look at it again,” I say to Michael. It’s the first thing I’ve said to him. He says, “Don’t look, you’re doing great, you don’t need it.”

No watch. No watch leads to better performances for me. I know this about myself. I prove it every time I am brave enough to do it. Choosing splits and counting and thinking and correcting and over-correcting during a race; none of that serves me as well as just running hard. I know what I am supposed to feel like and when.

2km: this kilometer is good. I feel like I am supposed to. The 560m loop is some up, some down, some flat. I relax and regroup on the down. I run even on the up. I actually don’t have any real enduring memory of running this looped course other than trying to relax on the short downhill.

3km: my elbows are starting to fill with lactic acid. I relax extra on the down part of the loop and I start to focus more. Don’t give up. Don’t give up. I give myself stride cues.

Pain starts to flood me and I respond with a comforting, tried and true strategy. My training partner Nick McBride’s words, “Hello, Pain. I’ve been expected you. But not today.”

I repeat, “Not today. Not today,” and I do what I am supposed to and I perform. It’s so very hard. The effort is increasing by what feels like exponential amounts. This is where younger Erin would give up. I think about that. Younger Erin gave up many times in this spot, only to see after that in that moment, when she thought she had blown it because the effort was so hard? In that moment, she was always still on pace and still doing well. So I know that I feel like I am supposed to and I know that I will not give up. Michael says something. It’s good and nice. I have no idea what it was.

4km: this one is sooo looong.

My brain is screaming all of the mental diarrhea that the pained race brain screams at everyone: it’s too far! You don’t have to do this! You can just stop! You’re never gonna make it! How many more laps?! You can’t even count how many more laps! Just stop!

But my calm fierce racer brain is louder and calmer and I tell myself, “Just run the lap you are in” and I do that. I feel like I am supposed to. I do what I am supposed to. I don’t let up and I don’t give up. I cue my son’s singsong voice, “I will never give up, I will never give up” because I know it’s the quit protection that I need.

Running the lap I am in means simply running until my watch dings for this kilometer split, which I will not look at. Focus on this one. Patient in this one. And then let’er rip for the last one.

I run on. Michael next to me. He tells me for the second time that I am doing good.

Watch dings, 4th km complete. It’s showtime. I just have to grind out and survive this last kilometer and do it as fast as I can.

Everything is screaming but it doesn’t matter. I have racing to do. I can count 2 laps to finish now. Run hard then harder. Michael is really vocal now and I can tell that he’s excited but I can’t register anything other than “close this shit out.”

300m to go. Michael is now yelling, “It’s going to be close, we might not make it, you gotta run harder, faster, it’s gonna be a close call, go for it Erin, harder, 200m!” I don’t even know what I am trying to make it to? sub18:38 for a PB? sub18? I am alarmed in a blind sorta way but I DO NOT want to :00 this so I run my heart out to his SUV, parked to mark the finish of his measured 5km.

Watch off. Erin with hands on knees, seeing stars, feeling elation because that was everything I had.

“What did I do!?” I ask Michael. Too much effort to look at my own watch.

“17:33”

“NO WAY!” I say. He says I did.

I start laughing, giddy, “Eff-off! NO way! Did I do that? OMG DID I DO THAT?”

He says I did. I know I did. I know that I nailed it.

I indeed ran 17:33.

I gush and thank him and I’m so very happy that my runner soul might float me right up to runner heaven over these sand dunes right then and there. We cheer Jennie in to a 26 second PB and it’s glorious and it’s joyful and it’s so totally badass. I really did it.

Sneaky Michael, lying to me, telling me that I was going to blow it if I didn’t run harder. THAT is a teammate.

Much love to you, Michael, you’re generous and full of life and those of who get to share that are so fortunate. Jennie, you badass girl, I could not be more proud of you and this was so much better because we got to share it.

I text Coach Lee. He says I am on fire in 2020 and that being consistent + in my happy place was key and that I “laid it down.”

It’s a blast posting this race on Strava and I enjoy the camaraderie with my Road Hammer guys:

Never did I ever think that I would be a 17-minute 5km runner. Not because I thought: “oh I can’t do that.” But because I never ever considered that I could do that.

So dream big, friends.