3 bottles and 10 km

I did it! I won my first family foot sports challenge at this year’s Fergus Highland Games 10 km race! Not since Baco Noir and I made the Irons eat dust on our bicycles at Versaille have I ruled the race track!

To be clear, I was not first first, but first out of our group. Granted my nephew, who runs as quickly as the gazelles being chased by cheetahs I saw in Tanzania wasn’t there. Nor was Fauntleroy who is light on his feet in more ways than one. He hasn’t done the race for a couple years so technically, according to my rule book, doesn’t count.

But both IronMan and IronGirl were in the race and despite my sister’s grabbing my shirt slow me down, I was first across the line! Last week IronMan and I went for a practice run and was surprised to find myself slowing down so he could keep pace. He’s done that more than one time for me so I didn’t mind. But in a race, it’s every man for himself! Dog eat dog and all that jazz.

For one fleeting moment I felt bad as I passed him but it didn’t last.

One must give credit where and when it’s due so I need to thank the man in the orange Running Room shirt. I don’t know who you are, but cheers! Around 7km in, off in the distance I heard someone sawing a log. There was that “voompa, voompa, voompa” sound and it steadily grew more distinct.

After another km as I closed in on the heels of Mr. Orange I realized it was his breathing! I soon grew tired and very annoyed with it a decided I either had to slow down or get far enough ahead of him so I wouldn’t have to listen to that.

There really was no option. I also feared falling back would obligate me to stop and help him when he collapsed. I was not losing my victory over the IronLords so I fart-licked my way well in front of Orangina.

I have no idea why it’s called a fart lick, but to break up the monotony of a run, and believe you me it is monotonous, you run as fast as you can to a marker of your choosing and then ease off or walk for a smidge.

Option A, walking, was not going to happen as I could faintly hear “voompa” bringing up the rear. IronGirl had also tried to spook me but sticking right behind me the first bit whispering "Robert" in my ears. I distinctly heard that on the breeze as well so full speed ahead was my only choice!

As I mentioned, I did a trial run with IronMan and squeezed in two others; one during our Lake Placid trip and the other one night after sweet potato fries and a pint of Hoegaarten. I figure I ride my bike to work and that is same as running despite IronMan telling me repeatedly, and correctly, that it is not.

Both today and on our trial run, post Placid, he said his legs were just not into it and felt like tree trunks. They are, in a sturdy, muscular way, just about as large so not sure what he was expecting.

Rigorous is not a word I would use to describe my training regime. About 48 hours before the 10 km, Kitkat, Fauntleroy and I settled in for our usual Thursday night. I find it funny that his Lordship still feigns shock and awe at the end of the evening when three empty bottles are stacked in front of us.

It’s either that, or two bottles and empty pre-dinner cocktail glasses. Either way, I didn’t carbo-load and should have trained more.

As a result, my time wasn’t great, 51:13 (19th in my age group and 71st out of 149 racers) but good enough for a personal best. Snaps for me.

I am aware that pride is one of the deadly sins so I will say no more about the sweet taste of my triumphant domination of the family. It will go down as one for books. Enough said.