It’s been almost two weeks since my last post — longer than I planned, but this break wasn’t about quitting. It was about recovery. It was about running a 5k on the way to a half marathon.
The Pause That Tested Me
My ankle injury lingered longer than I wanted. What I thought would be a few days off turned into nearly ten. I stopped weighing myself too — not because I’d given up, but because I knew this wasn’t a setback. It was an injury pause.
My diet slipped a bit, and I’m probably still hovering around the 300-pound mark. But as soon as I could run again, I was ready. I wasn’t starting over — I was picking back up where I left off.
The Week That Led to Race Day
This week was brutal. A project deadline at work meant two 13-hour days, but I still found time to run twice.
Monday was a planned Zone 2 effort. I made it through the first mile running, then walked the second to keep my heart rate where it needed to be.
Wednesday was a 5-minute walking warmup, a 1.6-mile continuous run — my longest nonstop run of the year — and a cooldown walk. That one felt good. It felt like progress again.
Then it was time to rest until Sunday. My legs needed it.
The Day Before: Italian Food and Missed Soccer
Saturday started early with my daughter’s cross-country meet, three and a half hours away. She ran well, but didn’t quite give it everything she had. There were some runners there that are inspiring, however. Seeing someone give everything, fight till the last second and the first and second place finishers congratulating each other. The energy of a cross-country meet is contagious — the grit, the exhaustion, the cheers echoing across the course. There’s something about that atmosphere that sticks with you.
When it was over, we headed to St. Louis for dinner before the CITY SC match. About an hour from the city, the sky opened up — rain pounding so hard the wipers couldn’t keep up. We ducked into the Science Center to walk around, then drove to Anthonino’s Taverna on The Hill, one of those restaurants that’s both Italian and Greek and smells like heaven the moment you walk in.
It’s been featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, and now I know why. We had saganaki, garlic cheese bread, and I ordered the carbonara. Every bite was perfect — rich, creamy, filling but not heavy. When we left, I didn’t feel stuffed. I felt fueled.
Our daughter had earned ice cream after bringing home straight A’s, so we made one last stop — Ted Drewes, the frozen custard legend of St. Louis. By the time we finished, it was still pouring, so we decided to skip the CITY game. It had been a long day. We went home, watched the match from the couch, and called it a night.
Race Morning
I woke up at 5:30, not hungry at all. The pasta had done its job. I stuck to my plan — a Honey Stinger waffle an hour before the race, and some Sport Beans fifteen to twenty minutes before the start.
Standing in the corral of the CITY Sprint 5k for my first race in years, I wasn’t nervous. I was ready. My wife came along — something that meant more than I can put into words. Looking over and seeing her there on the sideline hit me harder than I expected. The emotions crept in. I sent her a quick “thank you for coming” from my watch, took a deep breath, and waited for the start.
My goal was 42 minutes.
The Race
I started too fast — 12:38 pace for the first mile. Adrenaline will do that. By mile two, I was paying for it. A long hill and a climbing heart rate forced me to slow down. I wanted to run the whole thing, but I had to be smart.
Mile two came in at 13:36, mile three at 13:47. I walked four times in that last mile and change, which frustrated me, but I kept moving forward. The final .1 miles were a steep climb followed by a downhill finish. My legs burned, lungs on fire, but I pushed through.
I glanced at my watch about 100 feet from the finish line — 42:02. So close.
My official chip time: 42:18.
Not my goal, but close enough to feel proud.
The course was gorgeous — weaving through downtown St. Louis: two blocks from the Arch, past Busch Stadium, Union Station, the Enterprise Center, the CITY practice fields, and finishing just off the pitch inside CITY SC’s stadium. Running through the tunnel and coming out to the corner of the field was surreal.
When I crossed the finish line, they handed me my medal and directed runners up the stadium stairs. My legs protested every step. By the time I reached the concourse, I was gasping like I’d run another half mile.
Spectators weren’t allowed inside, so I followed the exit path out a side gate — and there she was, my wife waiting outside, smiling. Medal around my neck, banana in hand, I felt both drained and full all at once.
Reflection
I didn’t run the entire race. And that’s okay.
This wasn’t about perfection. It was about showing up — about finding out where I am right now and what comes next. I was close to my goal and way ahead of where I started months ago.
My next race is a 10K in seven weeks. I’m not setting a goal time yet. Right now, it’s about improvement, consistency, and patience.
Thomas Edison said, “I didn’t fail. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”
That’s exactly how this feels. Each run, each race, each stumble — it’s all part of finding the way that will work.
I’ll take a couple of days off, then start again. Because this journey isn’t about one race. It’s about the hundred ahead.
Catch up on all my other post here.
