of the race. But he didnt. Today was his day to find out what time he was capable of running. So he didnt even think about letting up. By mile two, the indiscretion of his early strategy was starting to show. His stride became more determined, his breathing
of the race. But he didn’t. Today was his day to find out what time he was capable of running. So he didn’t even think about letting up. By mile two, the indiscretion of his early strategy was starting to show. His stride became more determined, his breathing
. I enjoy passing people. I enjoy beating someone. I enjoy the strategy of setting someone up. I enjoy deciding on the precise moment when I will surge past. I enjoy pushing myself until I know that they will not pass me back.Maybe the race number
that performance doesn’t matter. People who routinely finish races before I reach halfway sometimes believe that all that matters to me is being out with friends on an easy jog with water tables and police protection. That is not the case.I get the greatest
of agony on Buzzard Bait Hill. It was worth it.All week I had heard about the race up Buzzard Bait. The veterans spoke of it in hushed tones. The first-timers like me listened intently to stories of years past. As our day to take on the hill approached
