WHAT: The annual Susan G. Komen 5K Race for the Cure
WHERE: Atlantic Station
HOW MUCH? $35
CONTACT INFO: www.komenatlanta.org
FITNESS FACTOR: 4 stars
FUN FACTOR: 4 stars

By Colleen Oakley

My friend Katherine’s mother died of breast cancer when Katherine was 13. It’s tough to know what to say when somebody has suffered such a great tragedy in their life, but I do know what to do. Every year Katherine puts together a team for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, a 5K held in Atlantic Station where the participants raise money for breast cancer research.

This year was no exception, and I was looking forward to the race, but I was more looking forward to the brunch Katherine has at her house afterwards, replete with fresh fruit and loads of champagne. Perhaps that’s why I forgot to train for the run.
I guess that’s not true—I didn’t really forget. It was more a mixture between arrogance and the flu that I didn’t run for three weeks before the race. Arrogance because I had run a half marathon in February; how hard was three miles going to be after that? Not to mention, I was basically incapacitated for about a week and a half with the worst flu ever. That really cut into my running.

The day of the race, I was still pretty confident. We met at Katherine’s house off of Northside and walked to Atlantic Station. I got my race number, and we weaseled our way to the front of the starting line (we had learned years ago that if you’re stuck in the middle or back, you actually have to walk for about 10 minutes trying to get through the throngs of people before you can actually start running).

The gun went off and I took off, speedily running up and over the bridge on 17th Street, then making a right on W. Peachtree. I was surprised to see that W. Peachtree had an incline that was about as steep as Kennesaw Mountain. It never looked that steep when I was driving it. I huffed and puffed up the hill. A few small children passed me. “You’re only a half mile into it,” I chided myself. “Keep it moving.”

We turned left on 10th and then left again onto Peachtree, which was downhill, a nice respite. Even better, at the bottom of the hill was a water station. I grabbed a cup. “Two miles!” I heard one of the water volunteers shout. Two miles? Had we already gone two miles? I was doing better than I thought. I picked up my pace, turned left back onto 17th, and jogged back over the bridge. “The finish line must be right up here,” I though, eager to be done. About 10 minutes later, I was still running through Atlantic Station with no finish line in sight. I slightly panicked. Did they change this year’s race to a 10K? Why was I still running? Why did the people around me not look the way that I felt? I realized that half-marathon or no, this 5K was kicking my butt. I also realized, a bit too late, that at the water station the volunteers meant two miles left, not that we had already gone that distance.
I finally saw the finish line, which was gratefully at the bottom of another downhill and ran under it at 32 minutes. Not my worst finish, but not my best.

I stopped for a moment and cheered on the breast cancer survivors who were finishing the same time I was. An emcee called out their names and gave them a pink rose and a medal. It was very touching.

I searched for my friends and found them getting their free T-shirts at the T-shirt booth (one of the best things about running races, in my opinion). Sweaty and tired, but feeling great about our accomplishment, we walked back to Katherine’s. I poured a long flute of champagne, and we all toasted to Katherine, Mother’s Day and breast cancer research. And I secretly vowed that next year, I would be ready to run. SP
Colleen Oakley is a freelance writer in Atlanta and the former editor of Women’s Health & Fitness magazine. Got a fitness challenge for her? E-mail her at colleen@sundaypaper.com.