This time it's personal

Well, I just got back from the Great Pumpkin Chase, and I am thrilled. I PRed! 43:07.7 For those of you watching at home, that's a 13.89 minute mile. That's way faster than I've ever gone in a race. Wuhoo!

So, here's the longer version of the story. The 5K was a loop beginning and ending at a cool triathalon store in East County. The East County is well-known for strong persistent winds coming from the Columbia Gorge, even at times when it's still and windless in the city. It's frequently colder than the city as well.

So I go out onto my back porch this morning in my Run Against Bush t under my marathon "matrix" long-sleever and my skort, and I am dressed fine for the weather. It's cool, but excellent weather for a race. Mela and I get to the store, and it is FREEZING. It is really cold. So we go in the store. Everyone is hanging out in the store. There are teenagers, the cross-country team that is benefitting from this run no doubt, sacked out in the chairs and couches, and there are tons of adorable kids in adorable costumes, and even some adults in costume. And a lot of people wearing a runner's costume.

It's 9 o'clock, start time, so we go outside, and it's even #&*^)$% colder. And the race, a tiny, casually-organized event, doesn't start on time. We stand by the giant pancake griddles trying to stay warmer. At 9:20, the 5K actually begins.

I go to the very back of the line for obvious reasons, and an older woman compliments me on the matrix top. Oh did I do the marathon, oh yes I did. Oh she did it too. Well congratulations. Then she asks my time. I said, I was pretty slow. Oh, what was it? 9 hours, I said. Oh my G-d, she says, that's so slow, I finished in 7:58.07. She then asks if she can participate in this (like, do I look like I work at a triathelete supply shop?) and then just decides that, what can they do about it if she does.

May I just say--she's rude. On an event like this, with maybe 150 participants who have gotten t-shirts and socks and a pancake breakfast out of this, it's hard to see that there will be a whole lot of profit for the X-country team. And this rude woman is just going to take advantage of all the organization and planning that the store did for this, and not give them their $18? And of course, I was seriously seriously pissed about the slow remark.

Anyways, it starts and I am motivated to move fast. She starts blathering about 'oh my G-d, you walk so fast, how do you walk so fast', and I'm not sure if she's figured out that it's not cool to tell someone else they are slow and she's backpedalling, or if I am actually going fast, but it doesn't really matter. Soon she is talking about running--do I run? I do not, I tell her. A minute later, do I run? No, I don't. This happens multiple times. She finally starts jogging away. Fine.

Right now I am just thinking that I'll keep her in sight, and I'll surge past at the end. I'm moving well, feeling good, and my heart rate is up, but at a somewhat sustainable pace. The chill is a good motivator too. But I don't even need to strategize, because she never ends up more than about a block and a half ahead of me. The race has no markers for miles, so it's hard to know when to give it the gas.

At some point, a couple surge past me. They appear to not even be breaking a sweat. May I just say, I hate these people? And I want to be them when I grow up?

Probably at the 2 mile point, I catch up with her, and she's asking, did you run (okay, everyone, in a chorus: No I did not). Well, how did you catch up with me? which I don't answer because it's obvious. I chat with her for a minute or two, because I do not want to reveal the seething inside, and then I begin to speed up.

The woman who is walking with her says, are you going to let her beat you? And I am thinking, oh yeah, bring it on, but I say nothing. And the woman starts blubbering that I'm walking too fast, and after a couple more are you going to let her beat yous (yes, exact phrase), she says, yes, I will let her beat me.

Oh, really? #&*^ you! And I really let it loose. About a block from the finish line, I heard footsteps and I picked up again--it was a runner, finishing his 12K. I cross the finish line, and for such a tiny race, everyone is cheering. I get a slug of water and then wait for my pancakes--yum! Never ever tasted better pancakes.

Mela did well too, and so we are both coasting on the post-race endorphin rush-euphoria. Wuhoo! I can't believe I went that fast. That was fun!

And that woman? She came through a few minutes later. She must have thought I was a nice fat middle-aged lady, but that's where she got it wrong.