ConocoPhillips 10K - February 2006

[Sweder]

You’re just a coca-cola cowboy
With a sexy smile and Robert Redford hair
And you walked across my heart like it was Texas
And you taught me how to say I just don’t care

I’ve enjoyed a long-term love affair with the State of Texas, and with Houston in particular. Whenever I meet Americans on my travels and I tell them that I lived in the home of NASA for almost two years they tilt their heads and say ‘Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Houston is a much-maligned city, loathed by many for the copious amount of black gold sucked out of earth and ocean in the gulf coast region.

As many years as I’ve been visiting Houston – this year marks the 20th anniversary of my first wide-eyed arrival – I’ve never run in a race here. It seemed to me to be the perfect way to embrace the city. I’d tracked down the ConocoPhilips Rodeo Run on the internet as soon as I realised I’d get a chance to run on Saturday. The good people in administration steered me to Luke’s Locker, home to a veritable cornucopia of running swag that took my breath away. Just off the ‘plane, light-headed from lack of sleep, I gazed in wild wonder at the joys I had found. Luckily for my bank balance I arrived just as the store was due to close. I still managed to part with a hundred dollars in exchange for the new breed of Addidas Addistars - another running rule broken. 'Never run a race in brand new shoes.' Slapped wrist accepted, no damage done.

One extremely short and broken sleep later I was up well before the lark, at around 4.30 or so. I fussed and fiddled with various combinations, finally settling on a blue capped vest, lycra shorts and the new boots. A 6.30 pit stop at the hotel café for toast, honey, fruit and coffee and I set off for Minute Maid Park, home of the Houston Astros baseball team and the finishing line for the Rodeo Run. The race organisers had their stuff together when they drew their plans; ample parking at the finish and numerous yellow school buses to shuttle the expectant athletes to the start at Smith and Texas. Houston addresses are all cross street references; Louisiana and Texas, San Jacinto and Montrose, Westheimer and Chimney Rock.

I took the first bus to the start area and spent an hour just wandering around taking it all in. A heavy mist shrouded the tops of the towers of steel and glass way above the gathering crowds. The air remained dry but I felt confident of a dousing at some point in the race. There’s a saying in Houston: if you don’t like the weather here, just wait a while. Texas takes its fair share of batterings from mother nature; tornados, hurricanes, violent storms, sweltering heat, choking humidity to name but a few of the less welcome tourists.

Racers assembled and the level of excited chatter rose steadily. To the left of the start area the first collection of cowboys gathered, preening their steeds in readiness for the city parade. The Texas A & M band (go Aggies!), 70-odd musicians, weaved their way through the throng of stretching competitors; they don’t do things by halves here. The temperature dropped a couple of degrees 30 minutes out from the start, and I glanced up to verify impending wetness. The banks of drizzly fog were now half way down the buildings, the heavy cloud meeting rising runners' babble to compress the air. And sure enough, no sooner had the impressively moustachioed MC announced a 5 minutes heads up, the first spots of rain arrived. Before the off the band treated us to a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, many runners around me stand to attention, hands over their hearts to pay due respect to their National Anthem. The final triumphant bars were greeted by a loud roar and spontaneous applause, immediately drowned out by the starters’ klaxon. Hurrah! Finally we’re off, and just in time, too. The drizzled had developed into a minor deluge and I was in danger of getting cold.

As we funnelled through the narrow start area, chip readers singing like demented crickets, I was struck by the volume of people lining the sidewalks of Texas and then Travis as we banked right. Texans love a parade, and it seemed that inclement weather would not stop them enjoying this one. Flags waved, hooters sounded and voices of all scales and ages roared us through downtown’s man-made forest. A left into Leeland saw the 5K runners leave our company as space on the road became a little more available. My pace felt good, quick-ish without too much strain on my breathing. The new boots were performing well, providing a welcome spring to my step and no discernable discomfort. Onto Austin and the sea of bobbing heads stretched out for over a mile ahead. This latest turn faced us into the wind, and I was forced to squint as cool rain lashed into my face. A zigzag through Preston into La Branch and a surprise; an elevated section of road crossing one of Houstons’ Bayous, the muddy waterways that snake through the city and out into the suburbs. The going at this point was tough; my pace remained good but my body grew more demanding of oxygen. I manfully sucked in lungfuls of damp air to meet the need but eventually had to ease off for half a mile or so. Onto Hardy and we’re well out of the city now, the pillars of Houstons’ man-made wealth replaced by the rickety wooden shacks of the suburbs. The crowd had thinned considerably by now, the social demographic changing with the architecture. Elderly and obviously far less well-off citizens gathered on their porches, not waving or cheering but staring non-plussed at the lunatics flogging themselves into what was by all estimation a rather unpleasant storm. Right onto Luzon, right again onto Elysian and the Houston skyline swung into view just as the wind and rain relented, lulled entirely finally to reappear at our backs. Only now did I appreciate how tough the last couple of miles had been. I relaxed the tension in my torso and arms, changing gear into an altogether more comfortable cadence. As we crested the Bayou once more the crowds returned to greet us with a deafening roar, wildly cheering and waving bedraggled flags bearing the Lone Star, symbol of the State of Texas. The striking profile of Minute Maid Park appeared from behind the courthouse and I knew the end was close. I went for a 'burst of speed' over the last few hundred metres, but mindful of how I looked on the video in Almería I’m sure any actual change of pace was of little or no consequence. Across the line in 48:07, a PB for the 10K, hand shakes all-round with my co-finishers and a few man-sized gulps of still air. Just as I realised the rain had stopped my internal thermometer started bleating; damn it was cold! I trotted off to the school buses and retrieved my togs, eagerly replacing my drowned vest with a warm, dry finishers’ shirt.

Après race amenities were excellent. Stalls laden with fruit, candy, bagels and drinks of all persuasions (yes even beer, though sadly only O’Douls, an alcohol free variety) cowered in the shadow of the 59 Freeway overpass. I wolfed a banana bagel (self assembled) and struck out for the car park, mind racing ahead to a warm shower and a cold beer or two.

The following morning I received an e-mail from the race organisers.
It warrants publication in full. I feel it reflects the quality and professionalism of the organisers. It’s posted below, along with any photos that come my way from the web site.

Hats off to Houston for a great race. I’ll be seeking business events in the area for this time next year - it’s a 'must do again'.
Who knows, it might even be dry next time.