It's a race where everyone knows your name. Mine, at least. I'm not sure why this is; maybe it's because I've walked the Earth a few years too long.
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| I get by with a bit of help from my friends. L to R: Chadwick Sunday, Maureen Oblander, Julie Boggs, Christy Gnat, Frank Dwyer, Sharon Sibilski, Harold Dravenstott, Dan Horvath, Katherine Kinsey. Photo: Julie Boggs |
Christy Gnat, Sharon Sibilski, Chadwick Sunday, and I start close to the 1:55 pace group. This seems aggressive to me, considering that the Cleveland Marathon was only six days ago. I had only been hoping to run this race at about a 9-minute-per-mile pace like last week. I'd be happy with anything just under two hours today.
For some goofy reason, the pace seems slow. After a couple of miles, Chadwick and I move ahead of the rest of the group. I thought I was old enough to know better. I'm not. Chadwick is running smoothly and having a ball. I am just huffing and puffing. "Tell me another story," I ask between huffs, knowing full well that I'm usually the one doing all the talking.
Somehow, I manage to continue to cling to my friend until he spots Ella on the side of the road at mile 11.5. Ella does her jump-hug. Chadwick stops for it, and I can finally get ahead of him a little. Of course, he catches and passes me - the cheerleader did her job to inspire him.
Like last year, Chadwick pulls further ahead during the final wonderful downhill mile.
I finish in 1:52. This is much better than expected. I'm sure it's my fastest on this course.
All of my friends gather again at the finish. I love seeing them all. This, This is as good as running can get.
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