PERSONAL BEST

Sorry for the frequent race reports. I promise I will not be racing
for a while so bear with me if you will.  I dedicate this one to the
freedom of a certain loudmouth arboreal rodent.

Anyhoo, I slogged through a pile of miles and then run a half-marathon
a week ago. As it turns out, it is not a terribly bad preparation for
a 5K as well.

My usual 5K race is a week away. However, a business trip overlaps
with it. I called the race officials and told them about the
problem. They were sympathetic but declined to reschedule the race for
my benefit on the account that another 200-odd people are going to
participate. How selfish of them all.

So, I needed to find me a 5K race somewhere this weekend. I found one
in a remote corner of Cleveland 50-some miles away. Sheesh. Coming
home late last night I got me a whopping 6 hours of sleep. When I got
up this morning, it was dark, cold and rainy. Perfect racing weather
in other words.

I printed google directions to the place. I had to take a number of
sketchy turns, but in google we trust, right? Wrong! The lying bastard
led me to the middle of nowhere and dumped me there. However, several
conversations with a clueless lost old lady and a couple of
sympathetic cops finally got me to the place.

It turned out to be a nice lakeside park with a beautiful
shorefront. However, the race was going to be on the street. On the
upside the course was pancake flat. On the downside, it was as
exciting as, well, racing on the streets.

Signed up, pinned the number, took a dump, warmed up for a couple of
miles, hanged out in the shelter before the start not to get too
wet. Then took a nervous emergency p1ss and squeezed a
garmin-weight-worth of urine out of myself. I am guessing this means
that weight-wise I would be running as if without the Garmin. Speaking
of which, the b1tch was cheating, lying and letting me down at every
opportunity so I was not expecting much from her. This woman is but an
arm-candy.

We lined up for the start. There were about 220-230 runners. A gaggle
of douchettes wearing Akron Marathon t-shirts were gabbing in front of
me, proudly resetting their Garmins from oh, twenty-six-point-two
miles to zero. I figured I better move in front of them before the
start.

Out went the race director. He is going to start the race with a giant
cowbell. Really? A cowbell? My eyes turn bloodshot, I am suppressing an
angry "Mooo!" and the desire to spear his arse with my horns.

The bell rings start. I am pushing the Garming-bizatch button and off
we go.  My PR was 18:56. I figured I'd try to run sub-6 miles and see
what happens.

First mile I am holding 5:45-5:55. Feeling alright I guess. I can
still see the race leader. Is that good or bad? Oh, no, the course is
flat but, I guess to add the excitement, they added a few twisty turns
in and out of side streets. They are particularly exciting to
negotiate on wet asphalt among puddles and wet manhole covers.

I run past a kid who looks about 13 or so all decked out in fancy
running clothes. He is spent. Pace yourself next time, kid.

I notice a girl in a pink shirt and a guy about 50 yards in front.  I
am gaining on them. Looks like the guy is pacing her. I accelerate and
catch up with them. The sickness in my stomach lets me know that I am
too old to chase girls like that. I decided to stick with the pair for
a bit. The girl is wearing tight shorts. I guess to do her justice a
normal guy should at least take a look at the goods. However, the mere
thought makes me even more sick. Well, I do take a passing glance and
realize that there is not much to look at.

I accelerate past the pair. I hear: "First female, way to go!" from
the spectators. Gebus, these guys are no better than L&O where they
still could not figure out whether I am a guy, a girl or a polar
bear. Nonetheless, I adjust my hairdo and check my makeup.

Last mile. I do not want to run. I am nauseous. I feel spasms in my
intestines and sickness in my throat. I start yelling at 1-mile
walkers to get out of the way. I highfive a cop. Anything to take my
mind off the pain. The merciful finish line is in sight. I hear heavy
panting behind me that is getting closer. Oh, no you are not passing
me like that, buddy. I accelerate and run into the chute. 

Tear off the slip and hand it in. High-five and good-job the panter
behind me and a couple of other guys. Run to the restroom. Resist the
urge to hug and kiss the toilet. I just sit on it instead grateful for
it being there for me. Life returns to me ever so gradually. I checked
the Garmin. The bidtch tells me I ran 3.04 miles. You filthy lier. The
hand-pushed mile splits are:

  5:58
  6:06
  5:58

The total unofficial time is 18:40 which is a PR by 16 seconds. I
placed second in my age group. The "first female" came 12 seconds
after me.  One of the Akron Marathon douchettes won the 20-25 age group
a minute or two after me. The poorly-paced, well-dressed kid won the
under 15 agegrup.

That's all folks. Thanks for reading.