Last Saturday, I ran what will probably be my last race of the season — a 5K at a local university. I met my mother-in-law at her house and we headed over.
My, everyone looked young. And fit. But as I was not racing against them (only against myself), it didn’t matter. Right?
The day was very chilly and the wind blew fiercely. I had almost left my hat and gloves behind, and I was so glad I had changed my mind. I definitely needed them.
The route went through parts of campus and into the surrounding neighborhoods. The sun shone beautifully through the cold breeze, and the changing leaves were a sight lovely enough to distract me from my freezing cheeks.
I had started relatively slowly, careful not to go out too fast. The nice thing was that either my competitors started too fast or I picked up momentum along the way. I picked off one girl, then the guy in front of her, then a man and woman running together. It feels good to pass people.
I was ever-so-close to the finish when I heard thundering footsteps behind me. Someone was trying to catch up and beat me! I turned on the speed I had left, and sadly it wasn’t quite enough. The man I had just passed ended up beating me by one second.
When Chef was a little boy, he used to pretend that whenever his family was in the car driving, they were in a race. He loved passing other cars. And when a car passed them (he said this happened often because his dad drove too slowly for Chef’s taste), that car was disqualified.
So I figure, the man who passed me was disqualified, right?
Oh wait, I wasn’t supposed to be racing against other people — just myself.
Well, I’m not racing against other people when they pass me. But when I pass them, I AM BEATING THEM!