I turn 32 today, which means that I’ve been running for 18 years. It’s crazy to think that I’ve done anything for almost two decades, but I guess that’s what happens when you just keep being alive. The timer you inadvertently start when you lace up your shoes one day just keeps ticking. When you consider hobbies, career milestones, and relationships, 18 years seems like quite a long time.
As I approach the year, I feel both young and old, having got my ass smoked by both a 17-year-old and a 42-year-old man in my first race of 2025.
Part of the reason I loved running was that I was pretty good at it from a young age. Please understand that I have no false pretenses about how good I am. I was a middle-of-the-pack NAIA runner in college, and since graduation, I have wondered, looking at race results, if the courses that I ran were the same that professionals had just finished.
Still, I used to love rolling up to a local 5k in baggy shorts and finding the Nike Pro gear iPod armband middle-aged try-hard. Half-stepping them to push their pace in the first mile and throwing their couch to 5k plan out the window.
I like to think that I’m more chill now. Focused on myself and running for myself. However, as I stood at the start line of the Portland Shamrock 8K, arguably the city’s most competitive race, I took in the slender youth and wiry strength of athletes whose speed you recognize only after years of being overtaken in those agonizing final meters. Behind me, the old guard—still proudly donning their club singlets and short shorts—begrudgingly accepted that their splits wouldn’t match the blistering pace of the runners ahead.
In the eight extra minutes they held us at the start line, I took a hard look at myself—physically and mentally. By the time my gaze moved from my carbon-plated shoes up to my lined half-tights and Lululemon headband, the painful truth hit me: I had become the elder try-hard, caught somewhere between the old guard and the new.
***
With running’s boom in the last five years, it’s been fantastic to see so many people get into the activity that’s been the longest consistent in my life.
Well not entirely consistent. There have been many ups and downs, temporary breakups, injuries, and mental games. But I promise this isn’t an open letter to running, nor just a race recap.
In the last year, I recorded more miles than I have since graduating college in 2016 which is a mark I’m proud of. I attribute the long build to working with my coach Brett Hornig of Trails and Tarmac.
At the start of each week, I look at my prescribed training on a shared Google Doc. There are columns for weekly mileage, feet climbed, sleep accumulated and alcohol consumed. Coach has never lectured me on this final note, but tracking it keeps me accountable as I’m able to draw a connection from the alcohol to the sleep columns.
The PDX Shamrock run is, in my opinion, a real-ass representation of the city. You’ll see runners in green tutus and dyed beards, a 15-foot art installation of a dragon that breathes actual fire, and typically, it’s rainy and cold.
Along the 5K, 8K and half marathon courses, you’ll run by the tents of the homeless blowing in the wind.
For many folks, it’s the only race they will run all year and serves as an excuse to get drunk in the beer tent upon completion. One beverage is included with your race bib.
“Going fast” felt weird to me. My first mile was 5:32, which is a gear I haven’t touched in a while. I thought about how many slow, hilly miles I’d logged in Forest Park leading up to this moment. I often look forward to the easy runs that my coach prescribes. Even in the rainy months, the thought of disassociating on a dirt trot after back-to-back screen meetings gets me through the day. There was a time when I would push the pace on easy days but no more. I am a full believer in conversational pace and zone 2 chilling.
In a smart marketing move, the race emphasizes a team aspect to the 8K, making the race a point of pride for the competitive groups who meet for weekly track workouts on rainy weeknights after a full day in the office and before dinner with their families.
I knew there would be fast runners, but I hadn’t anticipated fighting for a spot in the top 50. As we moved through the miles, I traded places with men, women, and teenagers. We exchanged brief glances as we passed each other, but over my years of racing, I’ve learned not to focus too much on who’s wearing what jersey. When your heart rate is 180 bpm, every thought and emotion can become amplified and break your flow.
The course is a simple out and back with a turnaround halfway through. A friend who had started further back said that they yelled for me as we passed each other, but I was fighting for my life and didn’t see them.
My pace fell slightly off the following 4(ish miles) 5:34, 5:35, 5:39, 5:28, – I prefer to cut down on splits, by chasing down runners, but all things considered, I crossed the finish spent and stoked in a time of 27:37 (5:33 mile pace). I high-fived a guy I know from work who ran a disgusting 24:26 (4:55 mile pace). Smiling with the other speedy finishers and looking chill for how fast they’d just ran.
It wasn’t the prettiest (I scoured every aspect of the race photos I selected) but it was still a reminder of the fun that is racing and something that I’ve been doing now for the better part of my life. Yes, I care that I placed 47th, but I care more that I’m still able to tap into the racing mindset. To quell my nerves, eat the proper pre-race meal and listen to the right song before going to the line ready to rip. Even if ripping has a whole new meaning, I’m looking forward to being one of the elders at the starting line…no matter my placement.
*photos from my Japan stockpile where once again I couldn’t escape running.
*icymi I ran 16ish miles for tacos and made #content about it
Eli Stillman 
Leave a comment