When Morocco's Hicham El Gerrouj won his second gold medal in Athens – crossing the line in the men's 5,000-metre race a fifth of a second ahead of world record holder Kenenisa Bekele – the CBC's colour commentator wasn't overly impressed.

The winning time was 13:14.39 – 37 seconds off the world record.

"These guys," Steve Ovett said, "could run 13:14 in their sleep."

Ovett oughta know. He ran in three Olympics, taking gold in the 800-metre event in Moscow and silver in the 1,500 metres. Held the world record in the 800 for a while, too.

Could do it in their sleep. Man, I'd love a sleep like that. The 5,000 metre or the 5K – as those of us who run races on roads instead of Olympic stadiums call it – is a killer. Yeah, it's over fairly quickly but not before your body is put through hell.

It's like somebody yanks open your jaw and rams a blowtorch down your throat –and turns up the flame with every step.

Really, give me a marathon any day. Usually takes a good 10 K to hit your stride. In the zone for another 25 K. By the time you're hurting, you're too delirious to notice.

Did my first two 5K races this year. First time out, I didn't really know what I had gotten myself into. Looked for advice from those who should know.

Start out easy – but not too easy – and finish hard. Go out hard and hang on for dear life. Of course, if you go out too hard, you'll explode. That blowtorch thing, you see, expands your heart and lungs until there's no more room in your chest cavity. Or so it feels.

Went out too hard the first time. Realized that by the halfway point, the first time I wanted to quit. Around the time slightly younger and more aerodynamically constructed running buddy Bryan Mulligan passed me. The 5K is his favourite distance. It's all in the pacing, he once told me.

"[I focus on] trying to keep even splits, therefore a progressively harder effort. And the check is usually by the time I hit the 4K mark. If I feel so spent I feel like quitting, then I know I'm having a good race!"

That's the other point I realized I had gone out too hard. Around 4 K, when I played that "there's-just-one-k-to-go/damn-there's-a-whole-k-to-go" game in my head. Still, I came close to my goal of breaking 20 minutes.

Learned a thing or two about pacing, too. Things I would eventually apply in 5K number two in July. Had built up some confidence at the track as well, doing 400 metre repeats at goal race pace.

Hey, I thought, all I have to do is run 12-and-a-half 400 metre repeats. In a row. Without taking a break. Memories of the blowtorch returned. Started to panic – to the point where the thought of doing the race made me sweat.

But I had paid good money to line up with almost 2,000 other folks whose idea of a fun Friday evening was rapidly sucking in the humid, polluted air of Toronto's port area.

Another running buddy – Adam Marsella – says the lung-searing factor is enough to keep him to maybe two 5K's a year. And he's built like those guys who battled it out for Olympic gold. But he was on the starting line for this one, too.

Within seconds of the start, the blowtorch was down my throat. This time, I was controlling the flame – for a good chunk of the course, anyway. Still, it can be a little demoralizing when you see the leaders coming at you on the other side of the road, when you know you still have a good chunk to cover before you get to the turnaround point.

But I hung on and managed a bit of a kick to finish. Met my goal with almost half a minute to spare and just a minute or so slower than a new world record – for runners over the age of 70. Yeah, Ed Whitlock – the first septuagenarian to run a marathon in under three hours – set about his three millionth world record that muggy evening.

There's a really unflattering picture of me approaching the finish. My wife said I looked like hell. She was being charitable. Five kilometre races hurt like hell.

So it's back to the marathon for me –the full 42.195 K in Columbus, Ohio in October. The pictures look better when you're delirious.