The Spewer: In July, I ran a 5K in Wakefield (www.takethelake5k.com - I highly recommend this race if you're up for a fast, flat course and you want to set a new PR). There I was running around the lake, passing other competitors, and feeling strong. First mile down. 6:34 pace confirmed. Booyah! New PR, here I come. Strong steady stride. Breathing is relaxed, rhythmic, yogic. Second mile down. Holding true to pace at 13:something. Final mile. I'm not passing people anymore but I am not being passed. The finish line is in sight. I am alone. I am at peace. I am zen. I am... being passed by some young upstart who has been pacing behind me! Damn his vile youthfulness. Try as I might, I don't have enough in the tank to catch up with him. Good thing I didn't. About 50 yards after he passed me he turned his head to the left and, in almost cinematic slow motion, spewed a chunky cloud of pre-race snacks over himself, the street, and anyone unlucky enough to be watching the race as he went by. That'll teach him to pass his elders.
The Ancient Ones: Speaking of the elderly, every one of us has met a few of these along the way. They are older then us. Some carry AARP cards. Most can tell you Back-In-My-Day stories about races of yore, when "we didn't have sneakers with absorption technology or wicking clothes or Gu... we ran in our leather-soled boots because that's all we had... and we were greatful for it! You kids today with your mamby-pansy spandex and GSP devices... get off my lawn!"
Here is one of my favorites: Climb to the Clouds 2005(?) - Around mile 80 I started to lose all steam. My legs were cranky. My confidence began to crumble. I hear a pleasant "On your left" as a fellow cyclist starts to pass me up one of the many hills. It was a man in his 70s riding what appeared to be a bicycle he had since he was a kid. The wheels had fenders. His gear shifts were on the down tube. I think there were springs under his saddle. Here I am on my full carbon pedaling out of the saddle, trying to make it over the hill. Here's this septuagenarian, smiling serenely, sitting in his saddle, crushing my will under his platform pedaling feet. Maybe I should have asked to ride in his basket during the next hill.
Superhero Girl: I would be remiss if I didn't bring up her. Just like Superhero Guy (see Part 1), Superhero Girl is out there to embarrass and emasculate us all. Although I have seen glimpses of her when running or cycling, she being way up ahead of me, the best place to observe Superhero Girl was at the gym. She looks like your average woman when she enters the locker room, but what exits is far more impressive. It's like a before and after with Clark Kent in a telephone booth, but much hotter and much less spandex. She, like Superhero Guy, has muscles that I don't have and don't think I could even develop. Her body is chiseled, like granite, yet soft and feminine. She walks with a calm superiority as all men in the vicinity are struck dumb as she passes. She chooses weights that I typically avoid because, well, they're really, really heavy. We stare, partly because we are guys, but also partly because we are envious. We secretly wish we had arms or quads or abs like hers, or could look half as good as she does. I've tried but apparently one of her special powers is fitting into that skin tight outfit.
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