I raced in Brackenridge Park yesterday. It was here, under a bridge and along the brick walls lining the San Antonio River, where I learned to fish. On a stone picnic table several feet from the banks is where I learned of my parents’ decision to divorce. In front of the main pavilion is where, for the first time, I crossed the finish line in under 20 minutes for a 5K race. The park is famous for vagabonds and feral cats.
This race only had 60 or so people. Perhaps less. Weekly races don't tend to draw huge numbers, but the quality of patrons was unquestionable. Everyone was nice. Accommodating. People called out to one another by name. At the starting line, an older man balanced on a curb while a shirtless kid stood below him. He was needling him: “I’m going to beat you. Perhaps not today, but some day. Just you wait.” “Ha. Nah uh. You’re never going to beat me," the boy responded. I believed him.
Perhaps because of my similar shirtless appearance, the kid came up to me after I arrived from my warm-up jog – two miles and change. “I’ve seen you at a lot of races,” I called out to break the ice. “Yeah, I run a lot. Were you at the Freedom 4-miler?” I acknowledged I was. “Yeah, everyone was at that one. I think I remember seeing you, too. I finished with a 6:30 pace. You?” After complaining of the number of unaccommodating walkers in that race, I told him my time: 6:19 pace. “That’s fast.”
I previously raced at this park earlier in the year and the starting line was in the exact same place. I lined up as the race announcer began the countdown. “On your mark…” I noticed everyone was facing me; I felt immediately self-conscious. But I quickly realized why – I was facing the wrong way. “Get set…” I leaped across the line and turned to face the opposite direction. “GO!”
The kid took off at a break neck speed. He cut the corner under a twisted oak tree at the start, but I flared to the outside. The roots of this tree had caused the concrete and asphalt surrounding it to crack and swell. It looked like waves receding from a cliff face. Another silent victory for nature. It wasn’t too long until the tree was no longer a focus. I glanced at the watch on the second turn; the kid and I were running around 5:20 pace. This was too fast for me. Too fast for him. I decided to slow down.
We crossed the bridge over the San Antonio River where a man was fishing. Some ducks were patiently waiting by the shore anticipating bread to be thrown their way. Someone was bound to do it. They always do.
We wrapped around the public bathrooms and headed back up the only hill in the entire park. It lasts for 50ft. This is when the kid started to drop back. He didn’t have a watch on, but he must have known he was running through his fitness. I fashioned a peace sign as if to say, “see you later” or “good luck,” or both. I wanted to be a friend to the kid. I wanted to show him that there is always room for kindness – even during a race. I’m not sure the peace sign conveyed that, but it was worth a shot.
After around 0.3 miles we were running on the trails. I’m not as fast on trails as I am on road, but I maintained focus on my turnover. I was following the lead bike and it felt good. As it was my first time in the lead at any race, it felt more foreign than anything. It wasn’t long, however, that I heard the sound of someone on my heels. The kid gave me a heads up before the race: “Gabriel is probably going to win this, even with the stroller.” I listened intently for the sound of wheels. Unmistakable – it was him. First the large front wheel appeared in my peripheral vision, but it wasn’t soon after that dad and son were in front of me. I was surprisingly comfortable with this.
For the next mile or so I remained close. The turns would slow him down slightly, but any attempt to catch up would be met with a surge or two on his part. He never looked back to see where I was, but he must have known. We were racing after all. With a quarter mile left to go, I dropped the hammer. It was in a straight-away that I often run my intervals – I knew the d
istance perfectly. The previous acute-angled turn had slowed me down to just above 6-minute pace. I started to widen the stride and move the arms more. 5:50…5:40. I was gaining ground, but not enough to retake first. I knew I would come in second, but I wanted it to be close. 5:30…5:22.
This race only had 60 or so people. Perhaps less. Weekly races don't tend to draw huge numbers, but the quality of patrons was unquestionable. Everyone was nice. Accommodating. People called out to one another by name. At the starting line, an older man balanced on a curb while a shirtless kid stood below him. He was needling him: “I’m going to beat you. Perhaps not today, but some day. Just you wait.” “Ha. Nah uh. You’re never going to beat me," the boy responded. I believed him.
Perhaps because of my similar shirtless appearance, the kid came up to me after I arrived from my warm-up jog – two miles and change. “I’ve seen you at a lot of races,” I called out to break the ice. “Yeah, I run a lot. Were you at the Freedom 4-miler?” I acknowledged I was. “Yeah, everyone was at that one. I think I remember seeing you, too. I finished with a 6:30 pace. You?” After complaining of the number of unaccommodating walkers in that race, I told him my time: 6:19 pace. “That’s fast.”
I previously raced at this park earlier in the year and the starting line was in the exact same place. I lined up as the race announcer began the countdown. “On your mark…” I noticed everyone was facing me; I felt immediately self-conscious. But I quickly realized why – I was facing the wrong way. “Get set…” I leaped across the line and turned to face the opposite direction. “GO!”
The kid took off at a break neck speed. He cut the corner under a twisted oak tree at the start, but I flared to the outside. The roots of this tree had caused the concrete and asphalt surrounding it to crack and swell. It looked like waves receding from a cliff face. Another silent victory for nature. It wasn’t too long until the tree was no longer a focus. I glanced at the watch on the second turn; the kid and I were running around 5:20 pace. This was too fast for me. Too fast for him. I decided to slow down.
We crossed the bridge over the San Antonio River where a man was fishing. Some ducks were patiently waiting by the shore anticipating bread to be thrown their way. Someone was bound to do it. They always do.We wrapped around the public bathrooms and headed back up the only hill in the entire park. It lasts for 50ft. This is when the kid started to drop back. He didn’t have a watch on, but he must have known he was running through his fitness. I fashioned a peace sign as if to say, “see you later” or “good luck,” or both. I wanted to be a friend to the kid. I wanted to show him that there is always room for kindness – even during a race. I’m not sure the peace sign conveyed that, but it was worth a shot.
After around 0.3 miles we were running on the trails. I’m not as fast on trails as I am on road, but I maintained focus on my turnover. I was following the lead bike and it felt good. As it was my first time in the lead at any race, it felt more foreign than anything. It wasn’t long, however, that I heard the sound of someone on my heels. The kid gave me a heads up before the race: “Gabriel is probably going to win this, even with the stroller.” I listened intently for the sound of wheels. Unmistakable – it was him. First the large front wheel appeared in my peripheral vision, but it wasn’t soon after that dad and son were in front of me. I was surprisingly comfortable with this.
For the next mile or so I remained close. The turns would slow him down slightly, but any attempt to catch up would be met with a surge or two on his part. He never looked back to see where I was, but he must have known. We were racing after all. With a quarter mile left to go, I dropped the hammer. It was in a straight-away that I often run my intervals – I knew the d
istance perfectly. The previous acute-angled turn had slowed me down to just above 6-minute pace. I started to widen the stride and move the arms more. 5:50…5:40. I was gaining ground, but not enough to retake first. I knew I would come in second, but I wanted it to be close. 5:30…5:22. I finish 6 seconds behind the man with the stroller -- Gabriel Guerrero. And son. After congratulating each other on a good performance, I discovered he had attended St. Anthony. He was in the class of ’89. I was ’98. His mentor and coach was J.G. Well, I thought, that’s alright then. I saw the kid, Conrad, come in third. He’s only 12 and averaged a 6:12 pace. He’s going to be unstoppable in high school.
After I inhaled several cups of water, Gabe invited me on a cool down run around the park. I accepted and we started shortly after the last racer crossed the line. Along the way we talked of his upcoming 20-year reunion. Had it been that long? He mentioned Father Salas and Dr. Higgins. After forgetting his name for the last two years, I asked if he remembered a Father Hall. Richard Hall. He said no. Yeah, he was a young guy I mentioned. We ran past the kiddie park. The canopy above the carousel housing the fighter planes had a hole in it. The 10-foot high roller coaster was completely rusted out and any remaining paint was cracked and peeling away. As if attempting to flee from the place. We turned the corner and ran away too.
We passed some runners Gabriel knew and I noticed a girl with a Boston marathon shirt. Technical. I’ll be there, I thought. Give me time. We then turned onto River Road. So many feral cats. I used to feel sad for them all, but then I met the kid, Conrad. Before the start of the race we joked about how many there were. He responded, “My dad comes out and picks them up. Gets them fixed. He sometimes releases them back out here, but sometimes he doesn’t.” I nodded in appreciation. There are still a couple left, I thought.
We passed the pavilion and the stone bench where my parents said “I don’t.” Running back over the bridge, the man was still fishing. His 5 gallon bucket was empty. As an inebriated man once told me along Town Lake in Austin, he “needs to get busy catching.” We finished the run and I received a blue ribbon for my achievements. I stayed and clapped for everyone. It was difficult to find who to pay. One dollar. That’s all it cost. Well worth it.
2-miles – 11:31 – 5:46 pace.
2nd Overall
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