Running In Place

That was last night’s hilly 10K Development Run. As I recently lamented, I hadn’t run it since ‘05 and my hills so far this season have been notably absent - but it was a perfect night to run: sunny, 70F, not humid, and a nice cool wind to boot. The excellent conditons brought out a crapload of runners - and they all beat me. The runners, the run/walkers, the walk/walkers (ok, I suspect some of them cut the course but that don’t concern me none). So, slow or no slow, I ran every step and ran strong up every hill, I looked down at the view of the city below at every opportunity, and said ‘what up’ to all the bunnies and birds who crossed my path, and paced well enough anyway to give a good kick at the end (and get the *smooch* sound from someone in a passing car. Hey, I’ll take it!). And seeing as I was kind of looking at this as a run to boost up or dash apart my confidence, and though most people may not consider it a conventionally successful performance, I loved every step! There’s an old gentleman with an Italian accent who stands at the mouth of the steep hill with a megaphone, chanting encouragment, and - bless him - he waits till every last person trundles down. I had forgotten how glad it makes me to see him there and as lone little me came along, smiling big, he picked up his megaphone and said in rapid fire >insert accent here< 'you better bring a camera, somebody better take your picture right now cause you're doing great and 20 years from now you're gonna look at that picture and see the wonderful thing you did!‘ And, you know, that’s really cool.

And I’m totally not pissy about the dude who would have been last getting his picture (in color) on the front page of the sports section of today’s paper as he ‘finished the 10K.’ I’m not saying he cut the course but:
1) I passed him
2) He didn’t pass me after that

So. There you go.

You’d think that running in a skirt would get me in the paper but I guess a tie-dye shirt is the key. Though, in fairness, the real key may be to cross the line before the photographer has to go home and feed her kids supper. Or put them to bed.

In any case, it was a most lovely run, and I’ve already been in the newspaper anyway. It was the police blotter but whatever.