The Startline

There is something about the racing atmosphere.  Every race is different.  But, the startline is always the same.

My stomach is in knots.  I have raced dozens of races, but every event has me beaming with excitement. And still some nerves.  I'm surrounded by hundreds other like-minded people.  Everyone "gets" me.  I'm up hours before the start of the event, only to find myself rushing for a parking spot.  I am spotted two, three, maybe four times in the port-o-potty line.  And I still somehow think I have to go, once I toe the startline.

I take a moment to check my shoelaces.  I make sure they are still tied, double-knotted.  I check placement of my timing chip.  My bib number is placed strategically on the from of my technical shirt - of course with four safety pins, to prevent it from flapping in the wind.

I over-analyze my gear, what I'm wearing.  Did I dress too warm?  Are my knee-high socks going to slide down.  My hair is held back by a colorful headband.

Oh shoot!  I forgot to apply an anti-chaffing cream before I left the house.

Runners are directed to the starting corral.  I place myself in the middle of the crowd, according to my 9:00 min/mile pace.  The National Anthem starts.  Runners around me mouth the lyrics.  I tear up a little.

The race starts, as runners shuffle toward the startline like a herd of cattle.  I only start my watch once my feet cross the timing mat.  I would hate for my time to be inaccurate.

And there I am, starting another chapter of my journey.  It doesn't matter if it is three miles, 13.1 or 26.2.  It's all the same.  And, I love it.