Nite Movin’

Maybe surfer speak works.  Maybe it was something else.

“Where are your pigtails?” Michelle asks.

I am going with a pony and ditchin’ the pigs.  It is more aerodynamic.  OK, sure, whatever you say.

It is the GP Nite Moves 5K and everyone seems to be here. 

“Stick to me,” Ricky smiles at me as he stretches a hamstring.  Ricky that little fight I picked with you back in January, well, please, you cleaned my clock and put my Ho-ego in long term storage.  You are no longer sticky Ricky, now you’re slick Rick and no way can I stick.  I need a new rabbit, ah-ha, slim Tim.  Yes you, come over here.  Tim lines up beside me with a smile.  “5:50?” he asks.

“Um, better make the first mile 5:45.”  GO!  We are off into not the most evil of head winds, but the sail boats are still having a good old time out there and trees are swaying.  The front pack of Rickys and Todds jets up Shoreline and I squish into pack two with Tim at my side.  Wait a minute, wait a minute, check out the broad shoulders on Tim, I get behind him.  Why should I break the wind when these nice gentlemen around me will do it for me?

Mile 1: 5:45.  However, our little pack 2 has dimished to three runners.  We round the cones and hit the down hill.  I pull the lead and enjoy it.  Gene?  I think that is you in blue, getting closer and closer and then Pac-Man.

Mile 2: 11:35.  I was really hoping my watch would say something faster than that.  I know we have a lot of time to make up in the park.  Tim resumes the lead and I try to hold on.  Rusty shouts, “Open it up!”  Jose rides his bike along calling numbers, but I don’t know what it exactly means.  I see John drop off the front pack too and he is getting closer.  Who is behind me?  I don’t know, and I dare not glance back.

All day I tried to think like a runner and eat like one.  I did an excellent job until an hour before the race when I raided a collection of cashews, raisins, and chocolate chips.  My stomach filled up like a Macy’s T-day Clifford and the acid swirling around in there was making itself known.  “One mile, one mile, less than, less than” I repeat over and over.

But it hurts.  Oh running Gods it hurts!  OK Twilighters- I feel bit, a Vamp must have got me because all is on fire.  Then it happens.  I start negociating!  “This is my last 5K, I’m never doing this again.”  WHAT?  The R.G’s got my insides twisted up burning in Hades and I am giving in!  I don’t negociate with terrorists.  I glance at my watch, “Oh.”  I am doing good.  Tim takes off and leaves me to witness David Groom all alone.  David shouts a cheerful, “Go Dre.”  I am stunned one second still.  Mr. Groom you owe me a second, nah just kidding!  Clearly, we all need to remove our money from banks and invest in David because he is very secure.

We drop into the finishing hill and I can see the clock 17:20’s.  No matter what you have left, I think this helps.  Stare at the clock.  Take your chin from turning up and shove it down.  Re-align your head to attack, breathe out and dig a little deeper.  I got to the line 10 seconds behind Tim 17:38.  A personal record.

Carlsbad just got a little Carlsbetter, not good yet, but I am really happy.  Naturally it is not my last 5K, you tricky-mean running Gods.  Good thing you did not ask for my first born or for me to bake you cookies.

~ by drea on June 25, 2009.