An Open Letter

Dear Female Runner in the Town of Paradise Valley,

My sincerest congratulations on outrunning me today.  When I spotted you 200 yards ahead of me, I had no idea that you were running at a 7ish minute mile pace.  I was slowly closing in on you (in a purely uncreepy non-stalkerish sort of way) but then my route took me in another direction. 


I would like to think that you were just out for a three-mile jaunt which would have warranted your extra-quick step.  Unfortunately (for both me and my ego) when we crossed paths again three miles later, you were still hammering at your frenetic speed.

I couldn't catch up to you, but I do have some plausible excuses.

First, when we met I was on mile six of a twelve mile run.  Then again, you could have been on mile ten of a twenty-miler.  Excuse retracted.

Second, I ate a mountain of sugary garbage yesterday.  I spent Sunday shoveling bite sized Snickers into my mouth like firemen shoveling coal into Titanic's furnace.  Ergo, I was slow.  And constipated.

Third, I was scared.  Scared that I would use up too much trying to run down the un-run-down-able.  With little reserves and just beyond my halfway point, I would have had to limp five miles back to the house.  Of my excuses, this is the most embarrassing.

You won this time.  And just to clarify, you knew we were racing, right?