Recap: Fire Island 5K Run For Rose.

A small part of my recent mini-vacay happened to be a 5K. While His Lordship has completed said 5K a number of times, I have not, for the one time I was able to years ago coincided with the longest run I was to accomplish in preparation for the Chicago Marathon.

So color me ecstatic when I was finally able to run this race that ended with a bar party (situated next to the finish line, thank GOD) where runners were awarded treats and booze (also treats).

Saturday night’s fuel probably wasn’t optimal: wine, fried calamari, more wine, crab cakes (also fried), more wine, and a waiter with a snarky attitude.

Tip From Abbe Lew: Wait staff: tell your customer the truth. Do not tell your guests you had to “dig deep from the wine cellar to grab a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.” You don’t have a cellar. Also, why is your Sauvignon Blanc in a cellar and not kept cold? Further more, don’t tell guests your restaurant has a “no french fry policy” on weekends. That’s just a bold-faced lie.

While the aforementioned fuel was delicious but less than fine prep for a 5K, I didn’t care, and I’ll tell you why: Sunday’s race started at 10:30 a.m.

Ergo, I ate and drank to my heart’s content, fell asleep, and rose at my leisure.

I won’t say I wasn’t nervous about this race. I had no idea what the competition would be like as the beach wasn’t exactly crawling with the typical running type. (Think large, triangular-shaped men with John Deere tattoos crushing cases of Budweiser under a tent.) Many of those who know His Lordship said their money was on him winning, as some of the previous winners were not in attendance. Granted, I’m no 6:00-miler, but I was hoping to throw down something respectable without blowing myself to complete exhaustion in the first mile as I’ve done in the past.

Le map. Note the sponsorship of the after-party.
Le map. Note the sponsorship of the after-party.

Our crew, ready and waiting, went into our respective corrals (made with caution tape!), and listened to course directions and the national anthem. My comrade and I looked around at our female competition—two 12-year-olds stood directly to our right, and two fast looking females in the “under 7:00-mile” corral.

And then the gun went off.

And wouldn’t you know it, I went out too fast (shocker). Around a third of a mile in, I was trucking behind one of the 12-year-olds. I glanced at my watch and noticed a 6:30 pace (and almost pooped myself), and immediately started slowing to have a smart race.

And at .75, the girl in front of me started slowing. As I moved past her she displayed a great amount of good sportsmanship and said, “Good job.” (I wished her luck as well.)

As we reached the bay side, the sun was out, making the humidity much more obvious. More runners, feeling the heat, started slowing. Funny thing about 5Ks: they hurt. And, they’re over before you know it. I kept both of these things in mind knowing how much I loathe being passed in the final half mile of a short race.

I noticed exhaustion in several runners around mile 2.5. Indeed, it was hot and it was a 5K. Yet, I wasn’t letting myself get to that all too familiar feeling.

I turned to the finish and heard the announcer yell:

“Here comes another top ten female—Abbe Lewis from New York, New York!”

I threw my hands in the air and crossed the mat. Was I really a top ten finisher?

I found His Lordship and my comrade (who finished before me, also a top ten female) and we waited for the rest of our gang to come through. I knew I had PR’d, even if by a few seconds, but was anxious to get the final details which were to be posted during the after-party.

The post-race party was a delight: watermelon, Clif bars, bananas, bagels, and booze. We celebrated with a sweaty photo and waited for the awards.

And that’s when I found out I placed 3rd in my Age Group.


I WAS ECSTATIC. So much, so, that you could not wipe the grin off my face for the remainder of the day.

Our team went home with three medals and a number of PRs.


Fire Island 5K Run For Rose
3.1 Miles – 22:58 (7:24)

You better believe we’ll be back next year. More personal records, and, hopefully more medals await.

And if not, it’s still one helluva good time.


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