I got creamed in the AAU national marathon, finishing behind some women as well as a guy I'd run most of the way with, who beat me by a couple of seconds when he and I sprinted the final lap in the stadium.
Eight days later I ran a local seven-mile road race. Between the marathon and this race I'd taken a couple of college final exams, pulled an all-nighter or two to write a final paper, and generally recovered very poorly. Which showed.
So I'm running this seven-miler--two laps through the town--and, despite my usual conservative start, on the second lap everyone is going by me. I had to have had a mile in there that was over seven minutes. Pathetic.
With maybe a mile left, these three old guys come by me, one after the other. One or two of them were probably twice my age, at least! (I'd just finished my junior year, so I'd turned 20 the month before.) I'm sure they just thought that I was cooked--they were only looking ahead, trying to pass more guys. It was really embarrassing.
I struggled to keep within 50 yards of them, and remembered that we crossed a bridge about a quarter-mile from the town's main street, where the race started and ended. I made up my mind that, regardless of how I felt, I'd at least *try* to mount a finish when I got to that bridge--no matter what.
When I reached the bridge I still felt like death, but I DROPPED THE HAMMER anyway and instantly blew by one of the old farts, who was in survival mode. The second guy was tougher, but I got by him eventually and with about 150 yards to go I was pulling up on the last one.
This last guy was maybe the oldest of the bunch, but was sprinting like a demon and it was one of those "step by step, inch by inch" things--he just would not quit. I finally dragged myself past him and hit the finish line a half-step ahead.
It was a terrible race overall, but I learned that, even if you feel completely like sh!t, you can still DROP THE HAMMER--a lesson I applied in some future races.