There are some things you do for glory, and some things you do because you want to know whether you can still do them. And then there are things you do because people are flinging poo and you want to be a part of it.
The Cow Chip Classic 10K was the second kind. And the third. Beginning in 1975, the good people of Prairie du Sac, Wisconsin have been holding an annual cow chip festival in which contestants compete to see who can fling a piece of dried cow manure furthest. The festival includes an arts and crafts fair, a parade, and running events: a 5K and a 10K race. This year 523 people ran in the 5K, and 112 did the 10K. Nine years ago, I did the 10K (6.2 miles), but I haven’t done it since. After taking up running again earlier this year, I wanted to see if I could handle a 10K.
I got up at 6 a.m. on race morning with a simple plan: leave the house at 6:55, drive to Prairie du Sac and arrive by 7:30 so I would have time to pick up my race packet, and line up calmly for the 8 a.m. start.
Naturally, the plan did not survive contact with our cats.
There was some domestic drama involving the feline division of our household, which upset my wife and delayed my departure. By the time I pulled into the race site, it was 7:45, which left just enough time to grab the race packet, take a bathroom break, and get to the starting area. I made it with four minutes to spare.
I wasn’t there to win anything. At age 69, I am not chasing trophies or trying to set records. I was there to test the work I’ve been doing all year: the slow rebuilding of a running habit, with cautious increases in distance. Getting faster would be nice, but mostly I’m trying to get more durable.
My official Cow Chip time was 1:22:26 (one hour, 22 minutes and 26 seconds), which put me near the back of the pack — 105th out of 122 runners who did the 10K. The fastest runner in the race was a 27-year-old who finished in 35:33. If I had gone all out instead of pacing myself, I might have finished in only twice his time, but I know I’ll never get that fast no matter how much I train. However, I did manage to run the entire race without any walking breaks, and I finished tired but intact.
The Road Back to 10K
Earlier this year, running was still something I was reintroducing carefully. I did some running in past years — 5Ks, 10Ks, even a couple of half-marathons — but stopped in 2017 because my knees, Achilles tendon, and general sense of self-preservation advised against it.
This year I started back with run-walk intervals. At first, the “running” portions were short enough that calling them runs felt a little generous, but that was the point. The goal was not to prove toughness. The goal was to keep showing up without getting hurt.
At first I did two minutes running, followed by three minutes walking. Then two and a half running, two and a half walking. Then three and two. Then four and one. Then longer blocks. Then continuous runs. I did my first actual 5K race in April and have continued doing one 5K each month, while also doing practice and conditioning runs. I’m currently doing two 30-minute runs each week, plus a third “long run” where I’m gradually increasing the duration: 40 minutes, then 45, 50, 60, and 70. When I reached the point where I could run continuously for an hour, I knew the 10K had become realistic. Not easy, exactly, but realistic.
A few weeks before the Cow Chip race, I did a long training run on a course that had been mapped out for a 5K race. I covered the 5K route twice, doing blocks of ten minutes running followed by a one-minute walking break. By the end, I had covered the 10K distance, with 70 minutes spent actually running and a total elapsed time of around 85 minutes.
That workout told me two things. First, I could cover the distance. Second, the limiting factor was not my breathing. It was the pounding in my feet and legs. My cardiovascular system could handle the work, but my tendons and joints are still adapting to the practical fact that running is a long series of small collisions with the earth. The lungs may be willing, but the calves, knees and feet get a vote.
Races as Field Tests
A week before the 10K, I ran a 5K race in Portage and finished in 31:43.87, my best 5K race time since I took up running again this year. I had hoped to break 30 minutes but didn’t. For the first two miles, I thought I might be on track, but I faded in the final mile.
Afterward, as always, I wondered whether I should have pushed harder. That’s the ghost that follows you after a race. Once the suffering fades, courage returns retroactively.
But I have been trying to think differently about running. I follow Steve Magness, an elite runner and coach who has written books about the science of running. He has warned about the danger of using workouts to “prove fitness” and not getting enough rest to feel fresh on race day. For a competitive runner, that makes perfect sense. If you spend too much effort proving you are fit in practice, you arrive at race day physically fit but tapped out from all the training, so your race time suffers.
My goals, however, are almost the inverse of the goals that motivate a competitive runner. At this stage of my life, race-day performance is not the central mission. “Proving fitness” is the only mission, and the races are just measurement tools. A 5K time, a 10K finish, a long run, a heart rate trend — these are ways of asking the body, “What can you do now?”
I am not trying to become the fastest man in my age group. I am trying to become the kind of 69-year-old who can run, play tennis, lift weights, recover, and then come back next week to do it again.
Race Day
For the Cow Chip 10K, I used the Workout app on my Apple Watch to pace myself. My plan was to treat the race mostly as another long, easy run. My main goal was to run the whole thing, manage the effort, and finish in one piece.
I used heart rate as my main guide. For the first five miles, I kept myself mostly between 130 and 137 beats per minute. That felt controlled. Not effortless, but sustainable. In the sixth mile, I let myself push a little harder, and my heart rate rose to around 147. My average for the race was 138.
The day was humid, and by the finish, I was drenched in sweat and significantly fatigued. But it was ordinary fatigue — the earned kind, not the alarming kind. By the time I finished the 36-minute drive home, I felt largely recovered. My legs were a bit stiff, but not injured. No knee pain. No Achilles drama. No sense that I had borrowed against the future.
What I Learned
The 10K gave me a new baseline. Before the race, I knew I could run continuously for 60 minutes. I knew I could cover a 10K with walking breaks. Now I know I can run continuously for 82 minutes and recover normally afterward.
That lets me recalibrate my training a bit. Instead of 60 or 70 minutes as the maximum duration of my long runs, I can start doing 80-minute long runs and build from there.
I don’t plan to be reckless with that. I’ll continue building slowly — adding perhaps another five minutes to the long run every week or two, but cutting back during race weeks or when tennis, work, weather, sleep, or life demand it.
If that goes well, I could reach 90-minute long runs this fall and perhaps approach two hours by the end of the year. That would put a half-marathon within reach sometime next year.
I’ve never done a full marathon. I’m kind of curious to know whether I can get there someday, but there’s a good chance I never will. A full marathon is more than four times the mileage of a 10K, and the training cost may be more than I want to pay. For now, the half-marathon is enough of a horizon.
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