I was a lot stronger up the big hill on the trail than I thought I’d be, on what was supposed to be a rest day. It’s true what they say: Never judge a run by the first mile.
At the top of the hill were a half dozen kids with skateboards. As I ran by I told them I’d stay as far to the right as I could, so they could feel free to bomb down the hill as fast as they pleased. The oldest one warned me that I might fall down anyway. I agreed with him, then bombed down the hill myself.
It’s a little more that ¾ of a mile to the end of the trail from there, and only three of those little fuckers caught me. First it was the oldest one. He pulled up short behind me on the steep part when he was really starting to pick up speed. When he pulled up short a second time, I broke my promise and took a wide but totally superfluous racing line around the big right turn at the bottom of the hill. He finally passed me after that, goofy-foot, on the flat and straight section.
Next it was the young athletic one, maybe ten years old. It took real effort for him to overtake me on flat ground, but he worked hard and kicked himself right on by and out of sight.
Finally it was the cool one, with about 100 meters to the end of the trail. He coasted by at a good clip, eyes forward, stance as casual and disinterested as you please. We both knew that he had to work to build his speed, but he didn’t show it, not even a little bit.
It was a very good day for a run.
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