Author is on the far right in the green running shorts

I decided that I am going to leave serious roads racing to people a lot younger than me. Make that older, fatter, shorter, taller, more blind, more outrageous, and more sober.

It all started a couple of years back when I was trying to pace a partially blind runner with a tether. He was oh so polite when he said, "I can see you are getting tired. Why don't you let me lead?"

Later that summer I thought I would try the 100-meter dash. I was planning to eschew use of the traditional starting blocks. "I don't need no stinking starting blocks" In amazement, I saw court jester and juggling fool Barry Goldmeier. He was casually tossing three beanbags, warming up to the challenge. I thought, "Right. Well, I'll just try these blocks then." The gun went off and I stumbled forward. As I regained my balance and looked down the track, I saw Barry and everyone else pulling steadily away. He must have heard me coming cause he dropped one beanbag as he crossed the finish line... two strides before me.

Let me tell you racing fans are very forgiving and they cheered for me anyway. Still, they are very cautious about runners' well being. Thus began the tradition of people rushing to my side after races to ask if I was all right. I had been advised by an older, oft times cantankerous runner to reply, "Of course not, you beat me, didn't you?" This time I was struggling too hard to breath, let alone talk.

Every year we all seem to gain a little weight. As I climbed up the steps to my house with my refueling medicine, a case of Corona beer, I realized my legs felt very heavy. For kicks, I thought I would abuse my scale and see how much the beer weighed. The scale had already been shrieking at me. "One at a time Please!" I had packed on thirty-three pounds since last Memorial Day. Coincidentally, I soon learned that the case of beer added another thirty-three pounds. So that's where it all came from. Now if I could only patent a more efficient carrying case for all that beer.

So, this weekend I headed back to the track for some more humble pie. The meet started with the 3000M race walk. Nearly everyone was in their late sixties or older. It was like a rest home convention. I graciously allowed the only youngster in the race to speed away and tried to hold off a sixty-one-year-old shoot putter and a sixty-five-year-old woman.

So let's try the mile. Make it the slower heat where everyone is over forty, even fifty. They all lied about how fast they could run to avoid humiliation in the faster heat. So maybe I will start out with blazing 100-meter speed and steal this race. I rounded the first curve and it was all daylight ahead. As I jetted merrily down the first straightaway, the entire field glided effortlessly by me. I pressed even harder and they were soon out of view. Now I panicked, hoping that they would not come around behind me and lap me.

Next came the multiple heats of the 100 Meters. I was linked with a couple teenagers and some other older folks. I joked with one youngish man who was clearly larger than my current Clydesdale bulk. How hard would it be to outrun him for 100 meters? How hard? He was jogging back to see how I was doing about the time I hit 75 meters. Great!

The mile race walk was a blessed respite as a number of the faster walkers had retired or moved on to field events. Still, I felt the burn from the sun rising in the sky as well I my "Glide" less pits from the frantic wing flapping that accompanied my duck like waddle.

My next event was the 400 Meter. No one was going to lap me here! My competition's combined ages was one third of mine and I outweighed them both. No need to try to trick them by darting out. I was hoping that they would be the ones flaming out towards the end. Still, I was nervous when halfway through I was still twenty meters back. I let out a roar and my last ounce of strength gutted out a one step victory. The youths were magnanimous. One lad seemed particularly thrilled that an adult had come out to run with them.

Barely time to gulp down some cold water and explain to another bored spectator what they could clearly see...I was out of shape. I lumbered across the field dodging errant javelins and discuses to the start of the 3000M run. This was one of the big events so a couple of real runners led the field of ten around the track. I was determined to stay in contention for a while. First an older woman eased by. The bellowing of another old fogey distracted me so much that I hardly noticed the eight-year-old girl edging past me. I played musical chairs the old guy and a nine-year-old boy for the first mile until they tired of me and jetted away. This race lapping came early and often. I did get a bird's eye view of the finish when the top two runners passed me for the second time just short of the finish line.

Kick me when I am down. This time, in the 200 Meter sprint, I was not allowed to run against the really young kids. I was put in with teens. I had an early lead by virtue of being in the staggered sixth lane. That ended with the sound of the gun. Before the final 100 meter straightaway, I was too far away to distinguish my competition. By the time I reached the finish, well-wishers were already out partially blocking my lane to congratulate the winners. They thought the racing was over.

Not so! The last event was the 800 Meter. The five finishers ahead of me could have combined their ages and equaled mine. The whole first lap I had a duel with a tenacious young seven-year- old. Jahil even had a jersey with his name on his back. Ask me how I know it was on his back? His coach screamed at him the whole way. Each time I passed him back, his mentor used me as an excuse why the boy should be running harder. "Don't let that old man pass you! Pass him now!" That little dynamo passed me three different times in the first three quarters of the race. Each time I did not know right away because he only came into view after he had gained extra ground. Right in front of me, the little pixie was too short to see. Finally on the last straightaway, I took his measure. He never gave up even at the very end and finished just two seconds behind me.