Braveheart 5-K

On an unusually cool morning in June, we set the alarm for 5:00 a.m. and prepared to drive to Franklin to race the long, relentless hills of the Braveheart 5-K.  This was the fourth year we decided to run this race, billed as "Franklin's most challenging 5-K course" and well worthy of its name. 

We arrived on Main Street just as a group of wee lads and lassies were finishing the Rob Roy Fun Run, which was not nearly as challenging, although some of them were so young that parents were hovering nearby to be sure they headed in the right direction.  We warmed up on Main Street, and at one point as we passed each other I heard Martha say, “You’re the same kind of crazy as me,” a verse from one of our favorite Delbert McClinton songs and an appropriate sentiment for both of us on this morning considering how ill-prepared we were.  Martha had been struggling most of April and May with heavy pollen and her asthma and had run only 18 miles since our last race in March.  And while my training had been going well, including weekly hill workouts, I had been on my hands and knees working on a carpentry project most of the last week and was feeling it everywhere.  But, as I told Martha the day before, it reminded me of that infamous quote by Donald Rumsfeld on the eve of the Gulf War: “You go to war with the army you have, not the army you might want or wish to have at a later time.”

The bagpipers that were part of the Scottish Festival taking place this weekend were apparently assembling elsewhere, and had been replaced by a local brass band on Main Street which struggled endearingly through several inspiring pieces like theme songs from the Olympics, the Rocky movie, and (I think) the Indiana Jones movies.  In just a few minutes, we were lining up for a prayer and a count-down start, and then we were off, climbing slightly up Main Street and then turning right almost immediately onto Harrison Avenue, the first of those challenging hills which lasted a half-mile and reduced most of the participants to walking.  Just before the iconic Sunset Restaurant, we turned onto Bidwell Street and began the long, long descent, which would become the long, long ascent on our return.  It was a pretty residential area, though, and I tried to look around and soak up the scenery, the tidy lawns and flower beds and occasional spectators cheering us on, or in one case sitting on the front porch drinking coffee and wondering what on earth would compel all of these people to run up and down these hills, all of us the same kind of crazy as each other, I suppose.

I had promised myself beforehand that my only goal was to complete this race without walking a single step, and although my time was slower than last year (and in fact one of my slowest 5-K times ever), I kept that promise.  I am still not sure if that was the smart thing to do, though.  A man and woman ahead of me walked all the way up Bidwell Street at a brisk pace, and I never did catch them.  Sometimes it pays to walk the steep hills and reserve some strength for the rest of the course, as Martha and most of the other runners did who finished ahead of me.  The last half-mile was mostly downhill, though, which made for a relatively fast finish, and unlike last year the timing company captured my time from the sensor on my race bib as I crossed the finish line, which was exactly the same as that on my GPS watch. 

Martha was waiting for me, and I learned that as usual she had run better than she had expected.  Her goal had been to break 35 minutes and she finished in 34:58, for fourth place out of ten runners.  First place in her age group had been taken by Robin Tanner, a very fit woman who runs with us on Saturdays in Highlands sometimes and is five years younger than she.  Had the age groups been five-year rather than ten-year, Martha would have taken first place.  My time was 45:41, for fifth place, but I could make no similar claim; three of the runners ahead of me (including an 83-year-old!) had finished in less than 30 minutes.  Still, neither of us had left anything out on those hills; we had done our very best; our hearts had been brave!

The overall winner of the race had passed me on Bidwell Street while I was making my way down it and was way ahead of everybody else.  He was Dennis Hayes, a 22-year-old from Cullowhee, with a truly impressive time of 16:12, and he was the recipient of one of the coolest race trophies ever invented, a full-size William Wallace sword in its leather sheath (which was also awarded to the overall female winner).  At a very moving ceremony, which we have enjoyed in past years, he was asked to kneel on a stool by a kilted Scotsman and repeat the Knight’s Oath, whereupon he was knighted and presented with the sword, which he then unsheathed and held high for all to see. 

And what a wonderful bravehearted oath it is! - words that we should all strive to heed.

A knight is sworn to valor,
His heart knows only virtue,
His blade defends the helpless,
His might upholds the weak,
His word speaks only truth,
His wrath undoes the wicked.
In the name of St. Ninian, St. Columba, and St. Andrew,
I knight you Sir Dennis Hayes.