|Stahler, prancing, fleet-footed along the trail|
|Long, inching his way to the finish line while spectators ponder how he stays upright at such slow speeds.|
We both just picked up the nimble Pearl Izumi Streaks shoes but have agreed to confirm with one another on race morning that we are NOT wearing the same outfit (bad enough being referred to as "the Tims", "Tim 1 and Tim 2", "Tim and the Other Tim" - I feel like Dr. Seuss characters sometimes).
The sandbagging has already begun with Tim S. mumbling about his ankle hurting (chop that bitch off, I say) and I found myself audibly cribbing that I'm worried about getting injured with a short effort (the thought of sustained low 6 min pace makes me nauseous).
I think we have some sort of a wager; something like the loser has to load the truck after our next event (Chabot Trail Run on the 25th) while the winner rests in a lawn chair with beer in hand, watching/directing. Thankfully, I love loading the truck and hauling around the gear, so it won't be much different than our typical event… maybe he'll share his beer with me.
Don't miss this one.