Road Race
It was a nice day, hazy clouds, and not too warm. Just a little bit of light breeze taking the heat off the perfectly smooth asphalt road as I ran at a good, steady pace in whatever 10k race I was in. No competition for me; I just wanted to have a run, get a medal, and then drink some free Gatorade. Something to do on a Saturday, just to keep things moving.
And there was this woman who was starting to get to me. Her running form caught my eye first. Now, I'm no Frank Shorter when it comes to running style, but I'm also not Frankenstein. But this woman looked as if every single stride she was taking was absolute agony. She was canted to one side, as if in permanent pain on the other. Her arms were up tight against her body, clenched, fists white with her exertion. How much energy was she expending just keeping those arms up, keeping them so tight and rigid, her hands balled up? Pain, or just the way she was? Her face was a picture of pure displeasure, an unchanging grimace of pain and exertion. She was a dark pink, her face completely flushed as she panted through gritting teeth, her jaw a taut line on both sides. She was loping along, in frayed dock tennies, not even running shoes. She looked like the Gyro Captain in The Road Warrior, minus the funky long johns and bad teeth.
And she was keeping up with me. Again, I'm now Kenyan marathoner, but when I'm in my own personal running groove, I can do a 7:30 mile for six or eight miles. Today I was at about 8 minutes per mile, no big deal. I was having fun, just out for a run, and now she was doing more than distracting me; she was pushing me. I could hear her labored, agonizing breaths behind me, and even as I consciously stepped up my pace, forcing me to put out a bit more than I'd planned or was eager to do, she was right there, maybe 20 feet behind me. She was non-rhythm in motion, but she was putting down a pretty good pace.
And we hit the turn-around, and she passed me. No words, nothing, just a flash of her stupid shoes, and she was a good 25 yards out in front of me. How in the hell did that happen?
Now, did I want to chase her down? Did I really want to make a race out of this? And is this what she was doing? She seemed to be struggling so much just with staying on her feet that she couldn't possibly be interested in a finish ranking, but there she was, in front of me. Three km to go, and she was out front. Okay, what was my strategy? First: keep up, don't let her widen the gap. Keep the distance at less than 30 yards, and then make the move in the final 500m, with the finish line in sight. She was so pathetic as she ran, surely she couldn't put out a true 300 or 400m sprint at the very end. Could she?
So now I was working hard, just keeping up. And here comes another runner past me. Didn't even hear the guy come up, and he startled me as he came by. And it's a goddamn kid. Maybe about 10, 12 years old. He just kind of lopes past me, not even breathing heavy. Goddamn kids.
And he trots up to the running bag lady, falls into pace with her, and says, "How ya doin', Mom?"
Her response is in an even, smooth voice, no sign of the stress and exertion so apparent in her face and body. "Just fine, Rick, doing just fine."
And they proceed to have a conversation, at about 7:15 minutes per mile. All about school, teachers, what was for lunch in the cafeteria, typical mom-son stuff. And I had to watch and listen as I kept up my accelerated pace, just to stay with them.
And then I felt this bump against the backs of my legs. Okay, another runner a bit too close--no problem. It wasn't a crowded course, not at all, but it happens, so it's no big deal, unless I go down. And then another bump. Whoever the idiot is, he's still behind me. And I look back to see a little blue economy car getting ready to bump me from behind again.
What the fuck? A car on the course? Who's in charge of this race anyway? And what kind of absolute moron drives a car onto what is clearly a running race course. So I slow to turn a bit, and see a lady all of 80, completely asleep inside the car. She's out cold, mouth open, slumped sideways so that she's almost sliding into the passenger seat. Hell, maybe she's dead. I take a couple of quick steps to the right, to get out of the way of the thing, and I think about running up the left side, opening the door and stopping the thing. Yeah, that would be the right thing to do, heroic and just plain common-sensical, but already the little car is outpacing me. Don't know if she's on cruise control or what's going on, but now that it's no longer bumping me, the little blue car is suring ahead just a little bit, well out of my running pace, up toward the mom and son running in front of me.
They both just glace over their shoulders, step aside and let the little car pass, with the woman still sleeping in the driver's seat. No sense of surprise or concern with Mom and Son, apparently, as they're still jabbering away about tater tots and that creepy blond moustache on Miss Yargo, the music teacher.
We round a little bend, and the stupid blue car just steers right on around it, right in the middle of the road. The driver may be asleep, but the car sure knows exactly where to go, and at just the right speed, apparently. I wonder if it was being polite when it 'asked' me to get out of the way a few minutes before.
And I notice that Mom and Son are hundreds of yards in front of me now. How the hell did they get way up there in such a short time? Have I slowed that much? Have they picked up the pace? Hell, there's no way I can catch them now, so they can have their finishing places ahead of me. Whatever.
And back to the house, walking off the heat and the sweat, the exertion of the run. Sore all over, but that wonderful weary-sore, knowing that what you've done has been good for you, that your body has done a great job and now deserves a nice rest. What a great property, one house down from the end of the road in the huge woods of elm and linden and ash. Big, big lots, divided decades ago and never sub-divided for maximum suburban profit. We were just miles from the city, but you'd never know that here. We were just a half-mile from the huge, tourist national monument-place, but the end of this street was worlds away, a fantastic quiet refuge from all of the urban and suburban crap going on so close-by.
And for whatever reason I'm headed to the back corner of the huge lot, maybe 8 acres all together, where the guest house is. Why the hell am I showering in the guest house? Don't know, but that's where I'm headed.
And now it was dark. Early morning? No, that couldn't be, having just run the race in the daylight (and where the hell had the little blue car taken the sleeping old lady by now?). So I guess it was night coming on. The overarching trees were taking away the light, and it was getting dark, fast. The guest house was completely dark, now a totally black, boxy silhouette as I approached, looming larger over me as I approached. No lights at all, which I also thought a bit strange. I didn't think anyone was in there, but didn't we keep a light on usually?
I felt a sense of dread, and I wondered if I should enter? And if I showered in there, with all of my clothes in the main house, how would I get to my clothes after I cleaned up? A nekked nighttime streak to the main house, just for funsies? Or a more dignified walk through the leaves with a towel around my middle down to my clothes? I just didn't know. I still had to decide if I were going to enter and shower there.
So I stood under the trees, amid the gently swirling leaves, the dark house towering over me.
And there was this woman who was starting to get to me. Her running form caught my eye first. Now, I'm no Frank Shorter when it comes to running style, but I'm also not Frankenstein. But this woman looked as if every single stride she was taking was absolute agony. She was canted to one side, as if in permanent pain on the other. Her arms were up tight against her body, clenched, fists white with her exertion. How much energy was she expending just keeping those arms up, keeping them so tight and rigid, her hands balled up? Pain, or just the way she was? Her face was a picture of pure displeasure, an unchanging grimace of pain and exertion. She was a dark pink, her face completely flushed as she panted through gritting teeth, her jaw a taut line on both sides. She was loping along, in frayed dock tennies, not even running shoes. She looked like the Gyro Captain in The Road Warrior, minus the funky long johns and bad teeth.
And she was keeping up with me. Again, I'm now Kenyan marathoner, but when I'm in my own personal running groove, I can do a 7:30 mile for six or eight miles. Today I was at about 8 minutes per mile, no big deal. I was having fun, just out for a run, and now she was doing more than distracting me; she was pushing me. I could hear her labored, agonizing breaths behind me, and even as I consciously stepped up my pace, forcing me to put out a bit more than I'd planned or was eager to do, she was right there, maybe 20 feet behind me. She was non-rhythm in motion, but she was putting down a pretty good pace.
And we hit the turn-around, and she passed me. No words, nothing, just a flash of her stupid shoes, and she was a good 25 yards out in front of me. How in the hell did that happen?
Now, did I want to chase her down? Did I really want to make a race out of this? And is this what she was doing? She seemed to be struggling so much just with staying on her feet that she couldn't possibly be interested in a finish ranking, but there she was, in front of me. Three km to go, and she was out front. Okay, what was my strategy? First: keep up, don't let her widen the gap. Keep the distance at less than 30 yards, and then make the move in the final 500m, with the finish line in sight. She was so pathetic as she ran, surely she couldn't put out a true 300 or 400m sprint at the very end. Could she?
So now I was working hard, just keeping up. And here comes another runner past me. Didn't even hear the guy come up, and he startled me as he came by. And it's a goddamn kid. Maybe about 10, 12 years old. He just kind of lopes past me, not even breathing heavy. Goddamn kids.
And he trots up to the running bag lady, falls into pace with her, and says, "How ya doin', Mom?"
Her response is in an even, smooth voice, no sign of the stress and exertion so apparent in her face and body. "Just fine, Rick, doing just fine."
And they proceed to have a conversation, at about 7:15 minutes per mile. All about school, teachers, what was for lunch in the cafeteria, typical mom-son stuff. And I had to watch and listen as I kept up my accelerated pace, just to stay with them.
And then I felt this bump against the backs of my legs. Okay, another runner a bit too close--no problem. It wasn't a crowded course, not at all, but it happens, so it's no big deal, unless I go down. And then another bump. Whoever the idiot is, he's still behind me. And I look back to see a little blue economy car getting ready to bump me from behind again.
What the fuck? A car on the course? Who's in charge of this race anyway? And what kind of absolute moron drives a car onto what is clearly a running race course. So I slow to turn a bit, and see a lady all of 80, completely asleep inside the car. She's out cold, mouth open, slumped sideways so that she's almost sliding into the passenger seat. Hell, maybe she's dead. I take a couple of quick steps to the right, to get out of the way of the thing, and I think about running up the left side, opening the door and stopping the thing. Yeah, that would be the right thing to do, heroic and just plain common-sensical, but already the little car is outpacing me. Don't know if she's on cruise control or what's going on, but now that it's no longer bumping me, the little blue car is suring ahead just a little bit, well out of my running pace, up toward the mom and son running in front of me.
They both just glace over their shoulders, step aside and let the little car pass, with the woman still sleeping in the driver's seat. No sense of surprise or concern with Mom and Son, apparently, as they're still jabbering away about tater tots and that creepy blond moustache on Miss Yargo, the music teacher.
We round a little bend, and the stupid blue car just steers right on around it, right in the middle of the road. The driver may be asleep, but the car sure knows exactly where to go, and at just the right speed, apparently. I wonder if it was being polite when it 'asked' me to get out of the way a few minutes before.
And I notice that Mom and Son are hundreds of yards in front of me now. How the hell did they get way up there in such a short time? Have I slowed that much? Have they picked up the pace? Hell, there's no way I can catch them now, so they can have their finishing places ahead of me. Whatever.
And back to the house, walking off the heat and the sweat, the exertion of the run. Sore all over, but that wonderful weary-sore, knowing that what you've done has been good for you, that your body has done a great job and now deserves a nice rest. What a great property, one house down from the end of the road in the huge woods of elm and linden and ash. Big, big lots, divided decades ago and never sub-divided for maximum suburban profit. We were just miles from the city, but you'd never know that here. We were just a half-mile from the huge, tourist national monument-place, but the end of this street was worlds away, a fantastic quiet refuge from all of the urban and suburban crap going on so close-by.
And for whatever reason I'm headed to the back corner of the huge lot, maybe 8 acres all together, where the guest house is. Why the hell am I showering in the guest house? Don't know, but that's where I'm headed.
And now it was dark. Early morning? No, that couldn't be, having just run the race in the daylight (and where the hell had the little blue car taken the sleeping old lady by now?). So I guess it was night coming on. The overarching trees were taking away the light, and it was getting dark, fast. The guest house was completely dark, now a totally black, boxy silhouette as I approached, looming larger over me as I approached. No lights at all, which I also thought a bit strange. I didn't think anyone was in there, but didn't we keep a light on usually?
I felt a sense of dread, and I wondered if I should enter? And if I showered in there, with all of my clothes in the main house, how would I get to my clothes after I cleaned up? A nekked nighttime streak to the main house, just for funsies? Or a more dignified walk through the leaves with a towel around my middle down to my clothes? I just didn't know. I still had to decide if I were going to enter and shower there.
So I stood under the trees, amid the gently swirling leaves, the dark house towering over me.
posted by Scrumpox at 8:40 AM
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