GRIBBLE COLUMN: A slice of humble pie ... served piping hot

Sometimes, it’s just refreshing to feel humbled.

That feeling of entitlement and sheer awesomeness can lose its luster without a reality check from time to time.

If only it weren’t so embarrassing.

My freefall without a parachute came Wednesday. That’s when I mustered up the courage to join 100 or so Auburn residents at one of nine 5K races as part of the Auburn Summer 5K Series.

And that’s when I got passed by men and women pushing strollers. Yes, multiple men and women.

So, technically, if those toddlers ponied up the $5 to become an official race participant, they can say they beat a 23-year-old who considers himself to be in at least respectable shape. That is, whenever they learn how to talk.

And it took just 31 minutes — yes, that’s more than a 10-minute mile average, thank you very much — to figure out that I should reconsider just how in shape I think I am.

First off, let’s backtrack for a second.

There were more than 100 people, ranging from kindergarten to retirement age, ready to run — for a price, mind you — for fun. That’s just gross.

I don’t run for fun. Never have, never will.

I run because I enjoy food and calorie-filled beverages more than the average person. And as a sports writer, I’m subjected to these temptations, at most times without cost, more than say, an accountant.

I run because I want to see 40. So, needless to say, this wasn’t my crowd.

Speaking of gross, though, the conditions Wednesday weren’t exactly what any runner would describe as ideal. The temperatures hovered around 95 and I’m pretty sure the humidity was at 110 percent. It was giving that extra effort to be better than all the other humidities around the country.

I probably should have figured that out when I looked like Korvotney Barber at the foul line after a few toe-touches.

My sweat glands gave 110 percent thereafter.

By the time I reached the 3-miles-left marker (for the non-metric system inclined, that’s 0.1 miles into the race), you could ring my shirt out and drench a squirrel.

That’s right about when the babies on wheels said their final goodbye and sped off into the distance. Five minutes later, that’s when I realized I wouldn’t finish this beast without making a stop or two.

In the days leading up to my first ever organized race, I expressed concern to several of my friends about whether or not I’d be able to keep a steady jog going from start to finish.

Oh sure, they’d say, you’ve been running pretty much every day since you moved here in October — that’s true, but not 3.1 miles and not in this tropical heat — and, if all else fails, your adrenaline will tie up the loose ends.

Sadly, they were incorrect.

Whatever athleticism I have got me roughly halfway through the race. Adrenaline took me another mile or so.

There were still 0.6 miles to go, and my tank was empty. I’d literally run out of sweat.

And that’s when the brakes were involuntarily slammed. All of a sudden I wasn’t running anymore.

Race 1, Gribble 0.

In that minute or so of halfhearted power walking, I reevaluated everything: My unabashed confidence that I’d be able to finish without breaking, the pitfalls in my training regiment leading up to the race, my idiotic decision to play an hour of basketball that morning.

And then, as a few more people left me in the dust, I realized that it didn’t matter.

Just finish the d*** race, I said. Hopefully, none of the neighborhood kids heard my profanity.

When I rounded the final corner, I heard people cheering me on. These people didn’t know me. They just saw an uncomfortably sweaty blond kid who needed every bit of energy to cross the finish line in stride.

It worked.

Race 1, Gribble 0.5

For my first try, I’ll take it — even if those babies were on their second popsicle by the time I sauntered my humbled self over to the water cooler.

Andrew Gribble covers Auburn University athletics for the Opelika-Auburn News. He may be reached at agribble@oanow.com or 737-2561.