Fitness Files: Thank Fido for this finish time

Many say final score is the typical gauge of athletic success. In running, it’s a PR or place.

For me, race success is the sensory experience.

Distance racing is about footfalls on asphalt, the whisper of air past pumping arms, the sight of changing neighborhoods, fleeting smells of restaurants or roses. And always, the extreme energy expenditure.

Sunday, I had a glorious time at Komen Race for the Cure at Fashion Island.

But this column is about contrasts, so I’ll start with the bad.

After my 70th birthday, I took a risk. I promised Daily Pilot readers a first place in the L.A. Marathon in March 2014.

Up until then, racing was a private interior exercise. I cleared extraneous thoughts, erased social concerns and focused on clarity of purpose: run until done.

Turned out I enjoyed sharing my training year with readers — my tumble on the Back Bay horse bridge, struggles with an inflamed foot and interminable 50-mile weeks on the road.

On race day, March 9, supportive Saturday Runners got me a car and driver, delivered me to Dodger Stadium. Judy, a 3 1/2-hour marathoner, paced me for a 41/2-hour finish.

We ran 10-minute miles for 13, but I slowed as the sun beat down, heating the course to 90 degrees by Mile 18. Tossing down water and electrolytes at every mile was no antidote to the steamy atmosphere enveloping me.

Struggling through the thick, hot air, I felt 100-volt-cramps strike my quads and calves. When I nearly pitched over on my face, I stopped. Walked. Tried to resume running, but every heel-strike sent paralyzing electric shocks up my legs.

Demoralized, wild with disappointment, I hardly noticed Judy’s patient encouragement.

All that training and support, sabatoged by sun.

I walked the last six miles.

And yet, I won first place, coming in at four hours, 54 minutes. Some might think I’d strut, thrilled that I could keep my public promise. I was truly happy to tell my readers, but even after six months, L.A. is a black memory.

Last Sunday, at Race for the Cure, I bid goodbye to my treasured teacher/survivor/friends at the start of the 5K. Minutes later, I took off under overcast skies and ocean breezes. I ran freely, thankful for my weekly hill-repeats, which allowed me to achieve the first two miles of upgrades, retaining spring in my step. I matched my stride to the beats of the peppy bands, my favorite, the spirited Taiko Drummers.

The sun came out at Mile 3. I began to labor, breathing harder. Then, I felt something warm and soft brush my momentarily lowered hand; the play of teeth gently bumped each knuckle. A millisecond later, a long-legged, slender wolf/husky hybrid trotted past me in effortless glide beside his owner.

Enraptured by his contact, I picked up my pace, holding him in view. I understand a “dog-kiss.” My daughter’s Rhodesian and my friend’s Lab/Golden both give me gentlest nibbles, just as this beautiful wolf dog offered. How did he know I would appreciate his attention?

I finished the race at about 27:40, and thanked my wolfie friend and his owner.

Komen gives neither official times nor age-group awards, but I was euphoric.

Some might say comparing 26.2-mile marathon with a three-mile 5K is folly.

But, for me, it’s the tactile-kinesthetic race experience that makes good memories.

It’s all about sensation: air temperature, smell, sight, sound and touch.

So, thank you, wolf/husky. You sensed your positive power over a human you’d never met before.

You hold first place in my memory.

Newport Beach resident CARRIE LUGER SLAYBACK is a retired teacher who ran the Los Angeles Marathon at age 70, winning first place in her age group. Her blog is lazyracer@blogspot.com.