a foot race

this sunday past i got involved in a footrace 

it was the best part of an otherwise completely forgettable and even tortuous day. 

as i haven't blogged for a whole month, i thought i would get off my ass and write about it, lest i miss a whole month of enudurance blogging for the first time in five years. i am not sure what that would mean and i don't want to find out. 

it was hot; high 30's with humidex, and i was at a bad point, deep in the hurt box, my mind sullied and foggy with suffering and dehydration, my senses dulled, and my motivation blunted. i was a stumbling, blumbering sort of thing and it was not certain that i would make it through the next 5 km lap any time soon. 

me about to pass out rounding lap two

then salvation came in the form of someone with right number branded in magic marker on his right calf. i was caught and passed by someone in my AG and this brought out the best and worst in me. 

in spite of my delirium i made the choice to stick with him until i either passed out or found some un-likely way to pull ahead. he looked lean and muscular and had a nice stride; a good runner. i had my work cut out for me. 

i honestly did not think i could do it. for the first 1.5k just the increase in pace from the death march i had settled into was making me feel sick and drowsy...i did not see how i could hold on...so instead of falling back i decided to surge ahead and see if i could create a gap...

after some effort, which put me a few inches closer to death, there was no gap. at this point, i made the intelligent decision to run on my friend's shoulder and, perhaps, most intelligently, to let him be in front as we headed into the blistering wind on the shadeless, austere other side of the canal where the final 2k of the run took place. 

i hung on, cursing him as we went, doubting every next step, occasionally pulling shoulder to shoulder for a moment, so as to run mano a mano,  out of guilt...deciding to man up, to share the work, then i fell back again and ran just behind. fuck it. this is a race and if he wants to do the work, then let him do it. 

then, my friend, who has shown no weakness to this point (and i have been listening for signs, breathing, grunting, anything) goes for a cup of water at the last aid station, 1k from the finish. i have always lived by the motto that if you can't forego aid at the last station, particularly if you are involved in a foot-race with one of your peers, then you must be hurting...

i think to myself about mark and dave, about the famous, "dave reached for a cup of whatever", and voices told me to bolt. (i was delirious enough for that). bolt i did, and to my complete surprise, it snapped...that invisisble cord that was holding us together and i built a small lead. i was too afraid to look back to see how big, but big enough that i could not hear him breathing any longer, so i knew it must be at least a few meters. 

the rest was pain, and running like the gates of hell were shutting just ahead of me...or that the hounds of hell were chewing on my ass from behind. it was desperate running. full. balls out running. maybe not pretty or fast, but balls out. 

i love a good footrace. i have been destroyed before and that is also ok, but it is more fun when you win, no-one can deny that. 

of course, spinoza would say  it just happened the way it had to. i kind've agree, i can't claim any real agency in this situation, i was just going along for the ride. and, after all,  who would choose to suffer that much for no real reason??? 

just a drop of water in the ocean

gratuitous bike shot because i thought it looked cool