Pie: The great motivator
I race for many reasons, but few are as tangible as pie. Some days ago, near March 14 (3.14) I raced in a Pi race of 3.14 miles and the prize was pie. Engineers are nothing if not dedicated to a concept.

When I first arrived at the race, I found sleepy college students and I figured that the race would be cake. The beast relished the thought. Pie was my destiny and my destiny was pie. As the race got closer, fitter, trimmer, athletic-looking student bodies began to appear and I realized that the pie could not be cake. When the race began, I got off to a traditionally slower start and had to fight my way through some runners to position myself 5 yards back of the leaders. There was a likely pace runner who had every plan to leave us in the dust, but I trusted that as a race official he would give up his pie, so that left me and my two pie-vying rivals. A little over 5 minutes into the race, I picked off one of the runners, and set my sights on the other. We were moving quickly, but I had a pie or bust feeling coursing through me.

The course was two loops and I crossed the first loop in about 8:20. At that time, the pacesetter was not yet out of reach, and my pie-enemy was still nursing a 5 to 10 yard lead. He seemed comfortable, but was he hungry? By the next hill, I had closed the gap and passed him. If I could shake him, the pie was mine. My lead was short-lived and he quickly passed me back. I had some choices to make and most of them revolved around inner fortitude and pie. For some reason, I really wanted pie. I don't even like pie that much. On a list of my favorite desserts, pie is not even in the top 5. Oh, but today, I wanted that pie. I didn't let my competitor slip away. Instead, I again managed to overtake him and with less than half a mile to go, I began to lay claim to my pie. Then came the final hill. I struggled up it. I looked back to see my competition moving more fluidly. As we rounded the curve to the final flat 80 meters, he drew even with me. I wanted that pie, so I reached in and I began to kick. Pie was a medal. Pie was qualifying for the state meet. Pie was not being beat by that high school nemesis Pete Castor. The line couldn't come fast enough for me, but with pie representing so much, I was able to edge out my competitor and take home the pie in a time of 17:23.

The second lap had taken its toll on us both, but we finished with a flourish. I split my pie with my competitor. It was a gesture I never would have or could have made many years ago. The beast is awake- he likes pie, and he likes competition. Sometimes, he also likes sharing.