The registration tent and race crew was there at 7:15, but they were dithering about the race. By 7:45, when 20 or so folks had arrived, the decision was made and the race was on. After some adjustment for the rain (putting the race clock in the front seat of a handy pickup truck), we were off. It was the usual out-and-back course, but with puddles and running water. Wet, wet, wet and cold, cold, cold. My rival Danny finessed the race with a pulled ligament, but did his buen’ hombre duty as the lone course marshall. [I’ll be back next year!] I kept a steady pace with Ms Gloria, and we ground out an unremarkable 32:25 run time, finishing 4th and 5th from last. However, my race-picking strategy paid off: I was first in my age group (also 2nd, 3rd, and last), while Gloria was the overall women masters’ runner, edging out her sole competitor. The after-race bean tacos were tasty, but after the tent tried blowing away for the third time, we all decided to head for home. My hands thawed out about the time we hit the San Antonio city limits, and I was never so happy to get out of cold wet clothes as I was when we got home.
What the hell was that all about? There were no cash prizes, no door prizes, no cheering spectators, and no photos in the paper. But 20 hardcore runners said they’d run a race on Easter Saturday, as they did every year, and by God, they ran.
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