Shoestring 15th place
It was a rainy morning, colder than the last few. It was a race day, the first in a month or two. The gun went off and we splashed ahead, a bobbing, breathing pack of runners. Moving up quickly on the fast flat course, I passed Tyler and told him, "Get on your horse." He and I pumped together until we'd nabbed a small pack, then he left me alone as he fell back. Caught between groups I lingered for a while. If I'm alone, am I in single file? I finally closed in and passed two others, but I couldn't shake them despite my druthers. One battled back and overtook me. My shoelace came undone frustratingly. Staring down as it went splat, I thought, what the heck should I do about that? I considered stopping and tying my shoe. I looked back and I looked up. Stopping now just wouldn't do. I pressed on, never losing touch. I dug in, but couldn't find much. As we approached the last few turns, I set up a charge and let it burn. I passed two men and looked ahead for one more pass. My legs burned and I nearly ran out of gas, but I didn't die and I didn't fade. Splat, splat, splat. I finished the race, just like that. My shoestring dangled off of muddy kicks, a quiet triumph of 17:56.

Better than the last race and now I'm in third place (in my age division in the series.)