Block One:
I started out conservatively, mindful of the long journey ahead. Really, I was just trying to find my rhythm. I was pretty comfortable by the time I pulled into the first aid station at the end of Trish Murphy's driveway. (I would be remiss if I didn't mention my gratitude to Trish for her support during my run. Clearly concerned that I was in danger of overheating as I tramped through her roses, she sprayed me down with her hose. Volunteers just don't get enough thanks.)

Block Two:
I proceeded across the dangerous crossing at Rio Linda Ct., making sure to jog in place while I waited for the crossing guard. Here's where things could have gone really badly: As I had practiced in training, I navigated the stopped SUVs and minivans really quite deftly, but when I got to the sidewalk on the other side, I discovered the lady on the left was attached to the dog over on the right by one of those invisible extending leashes. We've all done it, so you know what happened next. I tripped over the leash and the dog--a pug, fortunately--got tangled up around my right leg. I overcompensated and careened into a kid with one of those wheelie backpacks, rolling over him and headfirst into an unoccupied baby stroller. The kid and I were both dazed, but we got up and as his mother came over to support me with a very curious selection for words of encouragement. I set off again, now with both a pug wrapped tightly around my right leg and the kid's SpongeBob SquarePants backpack hung around my neck.

Block Three:
The course gets technical as it approaches the school, with cars parked chaotically, this way and that, curbs and what have you. You have to pick a careful line around some of the SUVs, but some of the smaller imports need to be climbed over if you want to hit your splits. I stopped to replenish my fluids and electrolytes (that kid whose backpack I had around my neck had thoughtfully left for me a half-finished juice box in one of the zippered pockets.) The pug came loose and bounced a few times before rolling to a stop. He gave me a playful, supportive nip on the ankle as I pulled away. In a way, that pug was everything you need a pacer to be. He got me through the tough part when all hope was lost and I wanted to quit.

The Finish:
As I hit the final crosswalk on the third block, I could see the roaring crowds at the elementary school, just lined up to cheer my finish. I tell you, I was moved to tears. I wanted it to last forever, but my daughter needed that damn script and every race must eventually end.

It was the greatest run ever. I had a race strategy and stuck to it. The specificity of my training paid off. (It seems like I run that course between home and the elementary school...I don't know...twice a day, five days a week? Doubles work. They really do.) I encountered a problem, but persevered. My daughter got her script. She's playing the part of The Unnamed CFO of an Evil Tobacco Company in the play, "Dude, Where's My Lungs?" Yes, I live in California. Those are the kinds of school plays we put on.