Maribelles 5K on the Bay

After arriving in Seabrook and parking under the Highway 146 bridge, I stepped out of my car and took my first breaths of the thin soup of air hanging over the coastline. It's definitely August on Galveston Bay; the sun and humidity were already in full control as the 7:30 start time of this morning's 5K approached.

I picked up my race number on the patio of Maribelles and had perhaps ten minutes to warm up. The starting line was marked on the adjacent road only by a dash of orange paint, so the casual observer might have thought the group of us standing around was a two-hundred-person outdoor aerobics class being held in front of a bar.
So when the pack started moving forward, I had to use my best guess as to where to start my watch.

Mile 1 / 8:50 -- Early in a race, it's natural to size up the competition. For example, I was debating in my head whether the lady in front of me would need a 34-inch or 36-inch inseam if she was wearing long pants instead of black spandex shorts. I didn't have too long to ponder the question as she pulled away after the first water stop.

Mile 2 / 9:10 -- This 5K course was an out-and-back along asphalt roads in Seabrook, with a turnaround at a park. There were no full street closures, so as I made the turnaround, I found myself looking at the tailgate of a red Ford F150 creeping along with the pack. I remarked to the guy running next to me, "I think if we catch it, we can hitch a ride to the finish?"

"This guy looks like he's annoyed by runners," came the reply. "We'd probably better just draft him."

Mile 3 / 9:49 -- I had tried pouring water on myself at the water stops. I had tried thinking cool Penguin thoughts. But perspiration refused to leave my clydesdale frame and I spent the final mile wishing could take off an invisible mylar blanket. So, of course, this is where I slow down enough for lady-pushing-stroller to pass me. On the positive side, I had enough in the tank for one more surge in the last quarter mile to pass a kid. Oh yes, that felt good indeed.

I stopped my watch at 28:51 as the finish line volunteer pulled off my bib tag. The official results have me at 29:06, which was good enough for a yet another middle-of-the-pack finish in my age group. There was no chip timing, and the course wasn't certified, but my eighteen dollars netted me a sleeveless cotton T-shirt with the race logo on the front and a back refreshingly free of corporate sponsors, as well as a bountiful after-race spread full of bananas, oranges, potato chips . . .

. . . pizza . . .


. . . and beer!


Chip timing and certified-course PRs can wait for another (cooler) day.