Bluffton Race Day

After tossing and turning for some of the night – after all I was in a place I wasn’t used to sleeping - I heard my alarm go off at around 6:00. 

Sunrise in Bluffton.

Up. Flick covers back. Find things in the dark. Attempt to dress.  Feel breeze. Realize I am wearing my shirt as shorts. Fix that. Shoes on. Start stretching, and try not to wake up Chris as I stumble around his kitchen trying to make the Vitargo and protein shake that will be my breakfast.

The previous night, we realized his coffee maker had given up the ghost, and Chris gave me directions to the nearest Starbucks for pre-race fuel. However, once I got my things together and turned the GPS on, I forgot where it was. Near the Piggly Wiggly? Past it? Somewhere in Georgia? I had to get to the parking lot of the golf shop, park and jog up to the race site. Coffee must wait, I heard myself saying. In disbelief, I might add. They’ll have it at the race site, yeah?

No, as I found out.

Rats!

Parked, checked my hip bag for phone, gels, and keys. Locked the car door, and made sure my post race shake was sitting in the center console, poised to fill the tanks back up, post race.

Locked, loaded. Sent Chris a text that asked for a post-race Grande Café Americano, if he would be so kind. He’d said that he’d grab a photo of me plodding across the finish line, which I was very psyched to see.

I headed towards what I thought was the main shopping promenade. Now, Bluffton is a cozy, quiet SC beach community. On a Saturday morning at 6:45 a.m., it’s deserted. My hope for some sort of starting line compass was another racer. 100 yards from the car and… Nobody. A Quarter mile… Zippo. Crap. Did I go in the wrong direction? As almost is if he heard me, a very serious runner came zinging around the corner, intent on his warm-up. And then a pair of them. Then more, all heading to the same spot, like migrating ostriches.

I’d noticed a similar flocking technique when I’d run the Bridge Run in Charleston that past spring. Downtown at 5:30 in the dark morning there were hundreds of zombies, dressed in wicking material and spongy shoes, trudging groggily towards the same direction. Funny, creepy, and comforting at the same time. Follow them…they’ll at least get you to the starting line.

Same thing in Bluffton, except these people were all running. 

Um…kids? We are going to be heading out for 13.1 soon. You wanna save up, there? Have you had your coffee yet?

Arrival.

After following these runners, some looking like Ace Ventura going out for a post pattern (sans tutu), I got to The Promenade. Here we were. Time to run. The officials quacked some instructions through the PA as we stretched, fidgeted, and herded ourselves towards the starting line. My mind was already racing. I just wish I could pace my brain, too. As a final preparation, I headed towards the port-a-lets at the end of the street. And promptly heard the Race MC bark there were two minutes until the start. Great. There were three people in front of me. Huh, boy.

”One minute”, two people. Eeek! Door opens, I’m in, door closes, I’m done, I’m out. 

Run toward the start and as I get with 15 feet of the line, the gun goes off.

My brain was REALLY revved up now. It slowed down enough to take some pictures, inhale the solid, cool, morning air and put my thumb on the Garmin wrist GPS, poised to hit ”begin”. All on the fly. 

Let’s go.

And we did.