I didn’t train at all for the third annual Hardy Hustle 10km race that was held on Sunday, June 1 in Port Hardy this year. Not even a little.
There were no early morning jogs, no carefully tracked loops around town, nothing of the sort. I did slightly fine-tune a Spotify playlist the night before, but that was about it.
When I told my mom a week or so ago that I wasn’t training at all and I was just going to show up and run, she looked at me and said, “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Tyson. You’re not going to finish.”
Usually my mom is right about these kind of things, but this time I was determined to prove her wrong. Also I wanted to fully experience what running a 10km race with zero training felt like.
And I have to say, it was pretty freeing knowing I was going in cold with nothing to lose. It felt just like it did when I was younger, when running was something you did simply because your legs wanted to move, not because an app was tracking your time.
I arrived to the Civic Centre early on race day, safety pinned a number to my shirt, and pretended like I belonged there. People soon started to gather around, and you could feel the electricity in the air as we all chatted and lightly stretched. I had eaten a big bowl of oatmeal before I'd left, so I felt almost confident because I had some carbs in my stomach to burn off.
Anyways, the horn sounded and suddenly I found myself moving along with the pack.
The first kilometre felt totally fine. My legs didn’t realize yet what they were in for. I cruised around the high school and then ripped down the good ol’ Tsulquate Hill, allowing gravity to help me pick up speed.
I jogged at an easy pace through the waterfront area, enjoying the beautiful view as the sun shined off the water, and then continued on past the post office and over to Macandales.
As soon as I started to jog up that first real hill, I suddenly felt like a kid who had been dragged out of bed too early and didn’t want to go to hockey practice. But then, once I’d made it up to the top of that hill, I suddenly felt alright again, and I think it was somewhere around kilometre three, when something in me changed.
Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was just momentum. But I found my second wind and got into a rhythm. I watched people pass me, and not to brag, but I passed a few people as well. It felt like I was now fully in "the zone" as I continued to push forward.
That lasted until around kilometre five when my lungs began to burn inside of my body. My mind kept trying to negotiate with my legs, saying things like, "we should stop at seven k’s, that’s still a lot, right?" But then some quiet, stubborn part of me replied, "no, I will not stop until I cross the damn finish line."
And so I kept on moving until I saw that damn finish line finally appear at Carrot Park. Then I immediately stopped, ripped my shirt off in celebration, and summoned all the energy I had left in my legs to sprint across the finish.
When I got there I smiled. Not because I had set a personal best (I hadn't), or because I felt like an athlete (I didn’t). I smiled because I had just finished something I realistically shouldn’t have been able to, mostly because of how badly out of shape I am right now. I haven't worked out or exercised at all since February, and it definitely showed as my finish time was around an hour and nine minutes, according to the app on my phone I was using.
Yes, I had willed my body across 10 kilometres of up and down pavement with zero preparation, and it was all thanks to my own stubbornness. It reminded me a bit of being a kid, when you did things just to see if you could.
I was limping a little the next day. Okay, a lot. My knee swelled up with bursitis to nearly the size of a softball, but guess what? Pain is temporary. That feeling? That “I can’t believe I actually finished” feeling? That sticks with you.
And maybe that’s what I needed more than a medal or a personal best.
Maybe I just needed a reminder that somewhere deep inside of me still lives the version of myself who doesn’t always feel ready, but will show up anyway. The guy who competes not to win, but to show that I’m still capable of surprising myself.
And sometimes, just sometimes, that’s enough fuel needed to propel a person across the finish line.
Tyson Whitney is an award-winning journalist who was born and raised in Port Hardy. His family has lived in Port Hardy for more than 40 years. He graduated with a degree in writing from Vancouver Island University in 2008. Email: editor@northislandgazette.com
