The cliche about “the luck of the Irish” seemed legitimate when they scheduled the Saint Patrick’s Day 5K Race on the Saturday following the actual observance. It rained heavily last Saturday, the weekend before March 17th. Yesterday, however, was magnificent. It reached 73 degrees mid-afternoon, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. More than 4,000 people registered to run, walk, stroll, or be pushed in a baby carriage from the State House, up Smith Street past Patrick’s Pub to our street and back down Smith Hill to the Capitol building. This being Providence, it might well have been the Saint Joseph’s Day 5K Race, but an awful lot of Mediterranean-looking people showed up with green shirts on to witness the race and the parade that followed.
We pulled up two folding chairs and sat at the end of our driveway watching the runners go by. Boy, did I feel like a true geezer. When runners my age ran by, covered with sweat, but persistent in completing the entire 5K, I aged on the spot. My knee ached a little more, and my shirt seemed to shrink to a tighter fit around my girth. Here I sat drinking cold Diet Coke (decaffeinated) while my contemporaries raced by looking trim, fit, and absolutely athletic. Oh well….
It was clear to me that the 5K was only partially an athletic event. Some of the people were walking instead of running. Groups of “runners” were chatting up a storm, oblivious to their location in the pack. Some pushed those baby carriages that serious runners push babies in rather than leaving them home with a sitter. I spotted at least one or two women running who wore bandannas over their heads to masque their cancer-related loss of hair. It was very moving when a Downs Syndrome runner, grasping hands with his father, ran by actually quite early in the pack.
I had no desire to be out there running…or even walking. It wasn’t just my age or my physical condition. I’ve never been a coordinated runner. But I did have a passing flash of envy for the fun I saw being demonstrated by people who were celebrating the day. Many shouted out to us, “What a beautiful day!” or “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye” in fake brogues as they lopped by. Several wanted to bargain for us to change places with them, the thought of a comfortable folding chair and a cold beverage being quite welcome at 2.5K.
We finished off the morning watching the wonderful parade that followed with our friends at the Dementia-related facility just down the street. Their pleasure at hearing the kilted bands and watching the kids performing as the parade moved by made for a very rewarding couple of hours. As I said earlier this week, I don’t have a drop of Irish blood in my system. But I’m looking forward to the 2011 edition of the St. Pat’s Day 5K already. Maybe I’ll just lean against the car in the driveway next year instead of sitting in a chair. I might even wear a (loose fitting) green shirt.
