This year went a lot more smoothly. And more quickly!
Next on the program was the Tomato 5K, in which I ran with 746 other happy racers, including a man dressed as a bottle of ketchup.
There is nothing attractive about me running my very very fastest. I can just feel the ugly oozing from my pores. And I can hear it. HEH! HEH! HEH! HEH! HEH! HEH! HEH! HEH! HEH! I was panting like a St. Bernard. I actually had to tell myself to just shut up and get a grip at the top of mile three.And then there was my neighbor Kathy, who doesn't "consider herself a runner." When I saw her at the beginning of the race, I was ever the douchey race veteran squealing, "Yayeeee! Is this your first race? Good foryooou!"
So of course she smoked my ass. There I was, closing in on the home stretch, a tenth of a mile left to go, when from the corner of my eye I see my wee speedy neighbor flying past me on the left hand side.
Of course. Not only is Kathy one of the nicest people in the world, she is a tiny muscular goddess, chiseled from the finest Italian marble. It's only natural that I should still be picking her dust out of my teeth, even if she did take up running, oh, I don't know, LAST WEEK. The moral of the story, of course, is to just do your best, and ...