Napa Journal: How PC does a runner have to be? | Columnists

I’ve been running Turkey Trots in my daughter’s old gym shorts for years. A bit of nostalgia.

But this year, as I walked to pick up my race bib, I looked down at the gold INDIANS lettering and recoiled. What was I doing! In Davis of all places! Could a person be any more culturally insensitive in 2021 than this?

The world has changed since Jenny attended Napa High in the ‘90s. Sports teams are no longer named for Native Americans. Napa High has given the Indian the boot.

But there I was, Indian garbed to the hilt.

I pulled down my shirt, leaving just the IANS exposed. That felt better.

In an act of stunning coincidence, Cheryl at that moment gave me a once-over and zeroed in on the INDIANS. Why was I wearing those old shorts? she demanded.

Cause I always do, I said. They’re a part of my jogger persona. Can’t run without them.

I didn’t need a last-minute clothing flap. I’d already had a hard time preparing for this year’s Turkey Trot.

I’d lost three months of training due to a pulled muscle. I’d only begun running without a limp three weeks earlier. A minor miracle, but not enough time to train for my usual 10K.

Do I run the 10K and destroy my still vulnerable left leg?

Cheryl injected a note of reason. Why not step down to the 5K? Half the distance, maybe no pain.

But 5K is your event, Cheryl. I’m a macho 10K guy.

I agree. I sounded ridiculous.

When I came to my senses, I signed us both up for the 5K. Cheryl would fast-walk, I’d slow-run.

Turkey Trots are always magical. Participants glow with energy. Autumn color everywhere. We feel part of something grander and more exciting than our mundane Napa lives.

And then there’s the breakfast afterward at Café Bernardo. It’s the best meal I eat all year. I’m ravenous. I’m sweaty. No matter my running time, I feel victorious.

And that’s what happened last Saturday. After skipping a year due to Covid, Davis’ Turkey Trot was back in a big way. More than 700 signed up for the 5K. At the starting line, my partially obscured shorts said IANS.

What to say about the race? A 5K is a lot shorter than 10K. I tripped on uneven pavement, spraining my bad leg again, but I ran happy the whole way.

Afterward, Bernardo’s pumpkin spice pancakes were a suitable breakfast of champions.

Did I say “champions”?

I won my age division – males 75 to 79. There were five of us. Although I ran the slowest miles of my life, I came in first. I crushed it!

And Cheryl, the fast walker, finished in the top half of her female age group.

We were awash in euphoria as we downed our Bernardo’s breakfasts. We were each other’s sports hero. We made plans to train better for next year’s Trot.

On the drive back to Napa, we stopped at the Suisun Costco for household supplies. As we got out of the car, Cheryl glanced at me, still in my race attire and blanched.

You’re not going to wear those shorts, are you?

Sure, I said. I’m not cold.

That’s not what Cheryl meant. Nor was she worried at my flashing INDIANS before a Costco crowd.

I have bony, bowed legs. Quite the sight, apparently. Cheryl preferred they be covered.

When she wouldn’t relent, I wriggled on jeans over the shorts.

She was happy, but so was I.

I was still wearing my Turkey Trot shirt. I still had my winner’s medal.