Racing with performance-enhancing drugs: Steroids really work!

Ten days ago, I finally made it to an allergist, in hopes of finding out why my nose had been running on and off the last year (pretty much nonstop “on” all summer). I spent two and a half hours there, exactly the same amount of time I spent at the Department of Public Safety office in June when my driver’s license was up for renewal. During my stay at the allergist’s office, I received 3 different breathing tests, a CT scan of my head, a starter set of skin tests, two conversations with a medical doctor, and a detailed explanation of how to use/take medications and inhalers. All my tests were conducted by friendly, efficient, and competent technicians. My two and a half hours at the driver’s license office, on the other hand, included 25 minutes reading a research article, two hours of the Spider Solitaire app on my NookColor and a 5-minute consultation and eye test, conducted by a somewhat friendly, but not necessarily efficient, government employee.

I left the allergist with a list of eight separate diagnoses, including various types of rhinitis and sinusitis, sinus polyps, and asthma. Apparently there’s a rip-roaring infection in every cavity in my head, and all the places that were supposed to be black on the CT scan were actually a mucky shade of gray. The allergist gave me a short lecture, rebuking me for not coming in much earlier and expressing hope that the mess could be cleared with drugs and that surgery would not be needed. Just the mention of that ominous possibility was enough to make me enthusiastically embrace the drugs, no questions asked. Instead of dinking around for a few days, perhaps reading up on side effects, hoping that maybe it would clear up on its own, and wondering whether the highly trained doctor was over-prescribing, I immediately filled all of the prescriptions and started taking everything exactly on schedule. I had already received my starter dose of steroids—the doctor’s office had given me the first dose while I was there, because they did not want any delay.

The day after the doctor’s visit, I felt absolutely terrible, and was very happy I was giving tests because I don’t think I could have made it through an actual class. This was the first day I had really felt sick. The second day after the doctor’s visit, I felt a hundred times better, and I could finally breathe through that same nose that had not felt real airflow in a month. It was amazing!! The third day after the doctor’s visit, I ran a 10-mile race, the 10 for Texas in The Woodlands.

I ran this race last year, and had signed up for this year’s race quite some time ago. This week I had second thoughts, and briefly considered skipping it, especially when I felt so awful two days before. But no, I had already paid my money, and I didn’t want to end up with a race shirt that I would always feel funny wearing because I hadn’t actually run the race. I would do the race, but would keep my expectations realistic, and be content with going a little slower than I did last year. After all, I have only run about once a week for the last 6 weeks, and I haven’t done a double-digit run since August. (The Winslow Half-Marathon doesn’t count as a double-digit mileage run, because I walked up all the hills, meaning I walked almost as much as I ran.) So I was definitely undertrained, but was confident I would survive, even if it wasn’t especially fun.

On race morning, I showed up early hoping to beat the traffic and also exchange my race shirt for a smaller one (mission accomplished!). After seeing breaks in the predicted clouds, I had second thoughts about leaving my sunglasses in the car, and I returned for them. Outside the parking garage, wonder of wonders, I ran into my sweet friend Mary Beth, there to watch and cheer on her husband Fred. This had to be a divine appointment, as there were two thousand runners, plus accompanying spectators and volunteers, and there was no way I could have expected to find someone I knew.

We visited for a while, took some photos, and settled Mary Beth into a chair near the finish line. In the Winslow race, my brother Dave Mows Grass utilized the strategy of finding a 64-year old woman to pace him the first few miles. Since this worked so well for Dave, I decided to try something similar. But I improved the strategy by 19 years, running the first couple of miles with my 83-year old friend Fred, the oldest runner in the race.

We kept a leisurely pace, drinking in that special sort of camaraderie that is unique to the beginning of a running race. Everyone, even the slowest back-of-the-pack runner, seems to pick up on race-day excitement, and until that excitement starts to mix with tiredness, which will happen a little while later, feels strong and powerful, and very glad to be out running a race instead of at home in bed, or shopping, or cleaning the house, or all the other mundane bits of life that the rest of the world does on a weekend morning.

After a couple miles, I felt stronger than I expected, so I said farewell to Fred and moved on ahead. I ran a couple of miles with someone who I discovered had finished less than a minute before me last year, and she recalled that last year, it was much cooler, in the fifties. It was still overcast, but getting warmer and would soon become a hot, muggy day. We chatted about how, especially with the heat, and for me also the sinus infection and total lack of recent running, we both expected to be a little slower this year. But somehow, in spite of all these difficulties, I felt pretty good, so I left my new friend, assuming she would catch up with me when I flaked out the last mile or two of the race.

I didn’t chat long with anyone else, but just kept going. Somehow I kept steadily passing person after person, and only a very few people passed me the rest of the race. I noticed, not for the first time, an odd optical illusion. Nearly all the first half of the race seemed to be a slight downhill, which was fine and in fact very enjoyable, but I knew that what goes down must come up, and I fully expected the last half of the race to be a corresponding uphill. Fortunately, this did not turn out to be the case. The second half of the race was also nearly all downhill, all the way back to our starting point.

Surprisingly, I didn’t become really miserable until after mile 8, and even when I felt wiped out and was tempted to walk, I somehow kept running. I finished in 1:45:21, four minutes faster than last year. How on earth did I do this? Why did the whole race feel downhill, even though it began and ended at the same location? Why was I able to pass twenty times more people than passed me? Why was I able to run faster in heat and humidity than I did last year, in twenty degrees cooler, perfect running weather? How was I able to overcome my total lack of training?

Was it because I was well-rested? Well, resting a few days or a week might have been good, but I seriously doubt if resting for 6 weeks would improve running performance. Was it because of the training effect of the Winslow hills? Dave said that running Winslow without Hammer Gel was like climbing Everest without oxygen, so maybe there could be something there. Wait, it turns out I have asthma…wow, I guess I did run Winslow without oxygen! But hiking up some Winslow hills once couldn’t possibly cause me to be able to run 10 hot flat concrete miles at a 10:32 pace, faster than slowpoke me has ever done in my life.

No, there can be only one possible explanation: the STEROIDS!! After only 3 doses, the steroids not only knocked down the sinus infection, but gave me the ability to run faster than ever before. It’s amazing, really. Unfortunately, at least running-wise, my steroid regimen ends tomorrow, so I will soon be back to my usual slow self.

I am so glad I decided to run the 10 for Texas, and not just because of my steroid-induced personal record. I was happy for Fred that he managed to sneak in with a time just under 2 hours—I know he was pleased with his run. It was an absolute joy to spend the morning with Fred and Mary Beth. I am so grateful to have such friends, who remind me that this life is only temporary, and that the most important things are eternal. Fred had his shirt made before his first marathon. It says “The Hope of Glory” on the back (this mystery is described in Colossians 1:27).

I realize that running is just a hobby, and that while it is perhaps a healthier activity than some other hobbies, there is nothing especially meritorious about it. But there’s something about running a race that reminds me just how much I have to be grateful for. Not just the ability to run, but every breath is a gift that should be cherished.

What a special morning.