I finished 6.2 miles in 1 hour, 2 minutes and some change. That’s incredible for me, as I’m usually a 12-13 minute mile kinda gal. For those keeping track at home, that means I ran 5 miles at just under 10 a piece, with one grueling mile-point-two up High street with COTA fumes in my face, the sun in my eyes and Wheezy Guy gaining on my tail, as capture here. See me on your right … the tiny, angry spec behind Washboard Abs.
I watched Washboard Abs warming up before the race and she kept looking around to see who was watching her, punching the air like a prizefighter and tossing herself up and down the stairs in a seductive manner. I grew to hate her then. I ended up passing her just after our photo was taken, only to have her zoom by me at an incredible rate the last 10 yards.
People like that, or rather, the ones with real athletic ability, make me crazy-mad. She probably could have ran the whole thing much faster if she had that much energy at the end. Ah, well. Bitterness.
I was gloating and boating yesterday’s finish time until a friend emailed me this devastating article.
That’s right. Aforementioned Wheezy Guy. Let me speak in capitals.
FIRST, Dispatch reporter Steve Blackledge wrote: “Although it took 1 hour, 2 minutes, 11 seconds for 60-year-old Frank Eubanks to finish the 6.2-mile event….”
I’d like to see you finish in less, Steve-O.
SECOND, “he drew a rousing ovation…”
No one was sitting. And they were obviously cheering for the cute, sweaty girl on the heels of the Wheezy Guy. Obviously.
THIRD, THAT GUY IS ANNOYING AS HELL. I don’t care how many obstacles he’s overcoming. That small-lunged bastard better stay home next time. We’ve spent way too much time together already. The reporter obviously missed more than 62 minutes on the road with passers-by saying things like “What’s the policy on strangling someone during the race?” or “What if we just tossed him into the Scioto?” And that was just what I caught between the songs on my iPod. Lord knows what other treachery my fellow runners discussed along the way.
Shut up. It was hot. We were running. Allow us our zero-tolerance for the disabled.
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