I signed up for an eight-week running camp, where the premise is you run an easy eight-minute mile by the end of the program. The whole thing was intriguing to me because I am the slowest runner on the planet. Seriously. Old ladies with aluminum walkers regularly leave me in the dust of their white orthotic shoes. And I really do want to see pigs fly, which is exactly what would happen if I could run that fast. Which, to normal runners, really isn't that fast at all. Anyhow. The most insane part of the whole gig is that it's MWF at 5:30 a.m. As in, even before the crack of dawn. I was very nervous at our first meeting, which was last Monday. Turns out there's only one other new runner, the rest have taken this camp numerous times. The good news is I am not the slowest one after all! We did a timed mile the first day and I did a respectable 9:21, which came as a huge shock to me because I didn't think I could even get below 10. Then yesterday, we had to run this lake in the next town. It's 3.2 miles with the last part being a long uphill climb. Plus, we had to "loop around," meaning at designated spots, the lead runner turns around and runs back to the last runner, and everyone follows to keep the group together (then we continue on). So me and the other newbie were jogging along, chatting, when behind us, in purposely loud voices, we hear:
"Those first timers, they always go out too fast."
"Yeah, first timers just don't know how to pace themselves. They're just not used to this."
And so on.
So finally I ask if they are talking about us, then assure them that we're actually really, really fast and are just toying with everyone. I made a joke of it, but inwardly I was a bit steamed. I mean, why not just say "Hey guys, make sure you pace yourselves!" Of course, perhaps I'm being a bit oversensitive (who, me? NEVER!).
Anyway - guess who finished first?
Take that, old-timers!
Gloaming - [image: john wayne sunset] A parting gift from the place I used to call home.
2 hours ago