This happened back in 2017 - back when I wrote it.
It is not often that prey present
themselves so readily. He was a young
guy, roughly 40 years old, dressed in sweatshirt and sweatpants even though it
was only 55 degrees Monday morning. When
he passed me, I guessed he was about 6'4” and 220 pounds. Given that he was overdressed for the weather
it seemed likely that running was not his original sport; more likely a former football
or basketball player, or both. It's not
that all distance runners are sparrows.
Jack Bacheler was 6'7” and a beast of a runner in the 60s and 70s, but
he was only 170 pounds, not 220 pounds and overdressed. That's what got me started.
I'd run a long and hard 10-miler on
Saturday, and an easy 6 on Sunday, but still needed some easy recovery miles
that Monday morning. I felt lousy after
3 miles and was about to head back to the car and quit for the day when I heard
footsteps behind me. “Hmmm? What's that?
I can't turn around and quit now.
I'll look like a quitter, or worse, a coward!”
He shadowed me for a mile, and I
didn't pick up the pace because I still felt poorly, but then he passed me at
my 4-mile mark. That's when I
discovered his size, age, and dress.
While I was pondering it all he got 40 yards ahead of me, but by the
time my mind came to a conclusion, my body was already matching his speed and
even closing the distance a bit. I
didn't intentionally cause it; it just happened.
There was absolutely no excuse to be
racing on a recovery day, but this wasn't racing, right? I was just going to keep the man honest. He needed and wanted an honest workout, not a
simple jog around Stone Mountain. Maybe
he'd like to find out what he has in those long legs. I decided I could help with that. I thought, “Let's see what you got?”, both to
him and to myself.
I coughed. I coughed every minute or so. Loudly.
Just so he'd know I was still back there. He looked back. Often.
I enjoyed imagining that he was nervous about getting passed back. Runners hate getting passed. I imagined he wanted to know if I'd closed
the gap. One time he spun around in a
circle to get a good look at me, and that made me chuckle. Never saw a runner do that before. I was pretty sure I was stressing this guy badly.
My body felt dreadful from
Saturday's long run, but running faster actually felt better than running
slowly, so I picked up the pace a bit, and so did he. I kept coughing occasionally, and he kept
looking back, which only encourages a competitive runner, not that I am one of
those. No, not me. I drove him forward like a cowboy driving
cattle.
Over the next two miles what started
as 9:30/mile pace became 9:00, and then 8:30, and then 8:00. I wanted to torture him for as long as he
could handle the increasing pace, but as he approached his 3rd mile,
which was my 6th mile, the heat got to him, and he slowed to take
off his sweatshirt and tie it around his waist.
That's when I caught him. It was
over. He was toast. I never saw him again, and I mentally
chuckled all the way back to my car.
What's not fun about that?
