“I’m nervous,” I said to Marcy as I stood at the starting line for yesterday’s Monster Dash 5K in Raleigh. It was worth noting since I don’t get nervous before races, at least not before the mountain bike races I’ve been doing the last few years. I couldn’t remember being nervous before a race since … well, since the last time I ran a foot race — in 1985.

Why were the butterflies kicking up after 24 years of being mothballed?

I thought about that after the race. I ran — a lot — in my 20s. I was never delusional enough to think I could win, or even podium in my age category (this was during the running boom of the early 80s, in health-conscious Denver, no less). But I was still competitive. My goal in each race was two-fold: to place in the top 10 percent of overall finishers, and two, to set a new personal record. My strategy: Start about a quarter of the way back in the pack, then run the race in segments, spotting a runner up ahead who I thought I might catch. If I caught that runner, I’d look for another, and so on. I wasn’t competitive, but I was definitely competing.

When I took up mountain bike racing I was 49. By then, my goal was simply to finish respectably. And by “respectably,” I mean entirely by my own estimation. In my last race, a six-hour endurance ride earlier this month, I finished last in my age group. All things considered, though, I was OK with my performance. To me, it was respectable.

Yet when I swapped out my bike cleats for running shoes, a curious thing happened: Respectable Joe got gagged and stuffed in a car trunk by Competitive Joe.

Very shortly into the race I had another flashback to my running 20s and why I did lots of 10Ks but not many 5s: The shorter races are too dang hard. With a 10K, you have time to find your pace. A 5K is a flat-out sprint. My goal was to run sub 7-minute 30-second miles, an overall time of 22 minutes 30 seconds or less. For me to do that meant there would be no leisurely 8-minute first mile. The gun went off, I was running; 200 yards later I was nauseous. Nauseous Joe apparently cut a deal with Competitive Joe, however, and I maintained pace. I still vowed to finish in the top 10 percent, I still vowed to make my goal of 22:30. It was just like old times. Except for the wanting to throw up part.

I met both goals. I finished in 22:09, I finished in the top 10 percent and, as a bonus, I finished 3rd in my age category (50-54). And while I did not get sick, I knew my innards could have easily gone the other way, swayed by the most innocuous of sensory triggers.

That realization — that Nauseous Joe is lurking — is what will drive the next phase of my training: Getting Competitive Joe to let Respectable Joe out of the trunk and let him help drive. At least once in a while.

Photo top: Coach Tim Clarks (in black hat) gives me last minute advice before Sunday’s Monster Dash 5K. Photos by Marcelle Smith.