Tuesday, November 06, 2007

It's Not a Run, It's a Race

Raggs and I ran a 5k race on Sunday. You've got to admit, it's pretty impressive that the girl can 1) even get me away from the computer, and 2) get me to participate in organized athletics.

I am not competitive at all. Or so I thought, until I pinned a number to my shirt. Somehow that rectangle of tyvek turns you from an unconcerned participant into someone whose only goal is to pass the next person in front of you. Over and over. So we gathered in the early morning sea of spandex, ready to attack the course.

As the crowd surged away from the starting line, we noticed a runner with a leash. There was a taut blue line connecting a guy around 40 to a dark brown dachshund. "Oh man," we said to each other, "that's not right. He can't run the whole race with that little thing!"

We quickly entered the crowd, went around the first corner, through downtown, and then up the first mile's incline. We began passing those that fell prey to the Darwinian hill, knowing a nice downhill was ahead of us. Cresting, we let gravity help us pass even more, although Loud Breathing Guy used his amazing megaphone breath to practically override our autonomic best attempts at respiration.

Along the waterfront, we continued our assault on those ahead of us. As we passed the 3-mile mark, we looked up ahead to see a taut blue line. Dozens of yards in front of us, we could see the hyper little dog still straining against the leash. It followed an arc, running back and forth in front of the guy, legs pumping furiously, obviously being held back by its blue tether. I started laughing, and, out of breath from the run so far, found out what it feels like to laugh and gasp at the same time. It ain't pretty, people.

We pushed on to the end, only blocks away, and kicked it out to cross the finish line. We bettered our time from last year by about half a minute, and as we stood there, breathing hard, we saw the guy and his dachshund. His face was so red and he was panting so hard that I thought he might be about to have a heart attack. The dachshund, however, was not panting, and was obviously looking to go on, especially with all the runners crossing the finish line right in front of her. I think someone might be slipping a little crystal meth into the Alpo, if you catch my drift.

No matter how cute she was, and how much she let us pet her, there was no way around the truth. I was beaten by a speed demon weiner dog with, like, 4-inch legs.

It's a good thing I'm not competitive.

5 comments:

Raggedy Angst said...

I distinctly noticed blue flames coming out of that dog's behind and smelled jet fuel once or twice. And did you see that her crate had the word "ACME" printed on the side? I swear!(and not just because the dog beat me too)

Lynn Sinclair said...

Give that dog a ribbon! Those dachshunds can be verrrry determined. Congrats to both of you for completing the race.

weebat said...

And all I can think of is a pizza-eating-four-inch-legged-lazy-ass-sitting-in-a-backpack kinda weiner...

Tony Easton said...

competitive with a weiner dog...you, my friend, are a true original!!!

Ash said...

Way to go!