No, not this one, silly.
This one.
An 8K race is about 5 miles. The name comes from Durham being the "City of the Bulls." The first item of business? Waiting in line for the porta-john.
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| I bet my sky this morning was prettier than yours. |
At 7:00 sharp, off went the elite runners.
I, of course, lined up with the hoi polloi.
As we approached the starting gate, I went over my race strategy. Survive.
As per usual, I soon settled into a relaxed and rhythmic pace. Much of the race takes you through a revitalized downtown area.
It's known for its swanky new restaurants, including one of my favorites.
After about a mile, I fell in with this couple who happened to be going the same pace I wanted to run for the race.
Then, before you could say "Bierbrauer Bauer braut braunes Bier" (a little inside joke for all of my German friends), you entered the baseball stadium and approached the finish line.
The "medal" was a cowbell, which is much more practical than a metal medal.
I feel so blessed to have been able to run this race today. I mean, how often does someone get to run with the bulls? I'm so thankful to God for the opportunities he places before me, for the body I've been given, for a mind that is still alert, and for the ability to feel the earth beneath my feet and to experience the beauty of God's creation. I'm not a very gifted athlete, but I am tenacious. And in life, that can take you a long way.
Thanks for reading,
Dave