How a 5K feels

The following is a first-person account of what it felt like to run in the 15th annual Kiwanis Club Firecracker 5K race in Weaverville from Tribune reporter Matt Tate.

7:55 am – We’re starting off at the RBC Centura. Bill Boughton of Edward Jones is using a bullhorn, but I still can’t hear what he is saying. I’m starting in the middle of the race pack, but I'm wishing I had the gumption to start at the front. This is my first race, and it would boost my ego a little to know that I was out front at least for a moment. But, nah, the competition looks pretty fierce up there.

8:00 am – We’re off. I’m trying to get my footing as to where I want to be. We turn up Weaver Boulevard, and I find an opening. I’m passing people at a pretty good clip. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

8:01 am – I’m already coughing. Not a good sign.

8:08 am – I pass the first checkpoint at exactly eight minutes. I’m at least on target to meet my goal of 24 minutes. Members of the Kiwanis Club are passing out water, which is a nice touch. In the movies and television, they make the water cup "passoff" from bystanders look easy. It’s not. My cup plummets to the ground.

8:10 am – We’re headed down Church Street toward North Main Street. Everybody is turning right. Shouldn’t we be turning left back toward RBC Centura? Isn’t this thing almost over? Sadly, no.

8:11 am – People are gathered at Well-Bred Bakery and down Main Street cheering on the runners. I suddenly wish I were watching from the sidelines as well. I ran three miles at the beach two weeks ago, but flat, sidewalk beach running is a lot easier than trampling across the terrain of Weaverville.

8:13 am – My stomach drops as I see we’re heading up Brown Street. The staff at the Tribune takes an afternoon walk several times a week, and we all complain about the Brown Street hill. This is about to get ugly.

8:15 am – As I said, ugly. I don’t even know if what I’m doing right now constitutes as running.

8:17 am – I’ve passed by the second marker on South College Street shortly under 17 minutes. And I drop another water cup. My 24-minute pace is slipping, I’ll later find out people are currently finishing the race. It’s just not fair.

8:21 am – I turn up Main Street for the last incline of the race. Every part of my body is now officially aching. I keep floating to the outside to allow people to pass me. I fear my goal is now out of the question.

8:24 am – Turning down Weaver Boulevard for the home stretch. I’d like to think I’m one of those runners who saves a little gas for the end. It is obvious, however, that I am not that kind of runner. Runners near me are pumping themselves up by talking to themselves. Maybe a little bit of that will rub off on me.

8:26:30 – My wife, Ashley, and Tribune editor Clint Parker take pictures of me nearing the finish line. I can objectively say that those two pictures are the most unflattering portraits ever taken of me. Thanks, guys.

8:26:35 – It’s over. My legs feel like putty. And now I gotta go to work. There’s a lot of news in North Buncombe County on the Fourth of July. Even with some soreness that’s sure to last for a few days, I’m glad I got to be a part of it.