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I haven’t actually told you anything about the race, have I?

When I started writing about the 10K I had every intention to tell you how I felt while I was running, but I get sidetracked quite easily.

And to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t all that funny while I was running.

For some reason I thought it would be cool to wear a bright orange day glo shirt during the race.

At first I felt cool.

And then I just felt like a bombastic jerk.

But that’s an entirely different story.

Onto the race.

For those of you that don’t know, my sister, Kira, is currently 4 months pregnant. However, she was still able to run the race. As long as you were an active runner before you got pregnant, you can still run while you’re pregnant. Of course you should always check with your doctor first. Don’t take my word as law.

My family has no problem leaving one another during races, but since my sister is a faster runner than I am, I try to keep pace with her. This time around that wasn’t going to happen because she’s carrying an extra human inside her and can only push an 11-12 minute mile. I was hoping to stay between 9-9:30.

Within 2 minutes, I left my pregnant sister on that trail.

That’s just how we roll.

When the tables are turned I expect her to do the exact same thing.

Some people from Kira’s job were running the 10K as well, so we hooked up with them at the start line. She figured that I could keep pace with them and finish in 54 minutes like I had planned. Unfortunately, my sister put way too much faith in my abilities.

Her coworkers are capable of running 7 minute miles.

I’m not even capable of a 7 minute mile with roller blades.

Do you see where this is going?

About 30 second into the race I lost track of her coworkers and proceeded to keep pace with an elderly Jewish gentleman from Boca. How do I know he was from Boca? He was wearing a hat that said he was from Boca. He eventually passed me and that was when I noticed that he had pulled his socks up to his knees.

I think this was the source of his power.

I should have tackled him and rolled the socks back down to his ankles.

That probably would have slowed him down.

That and the broken hip he would have sustained from having my heaving girth barreling down on him.

Either way I would have beaten him.

However, I did not do these things and he ran right by me.

Instead I had to content myself with running behind a man in a shirt that said “NYAC” and trying to figure out what “NYAC” stood for. That kept me well entertained during my run. At least it kept me entertained until the hills came. Then I started hating life and hurling down Old Testament style curses on the Shelter Island landscape.

You have to understand that I had been training on a flat Floridian plain. Hills are not in my running repertoire. As it is, when I said to Kira, “Good Lord those hills were difficult!” She said, “Hills? Those aren’t hills. Those are minor inconveniences.”

I almost told her where she could put her minor inconvenience.

To say that there were a lot of hills in the course is to say that Saddam Hussein was only misunderstood. The entire course was full of hills. I started to get motion sick from running up and down so many hills. With each passing hill got angrier and angrier until I eventually started to think that the hills had a personal vendetta against me.

You know you’ve lost it when the race course you’re running on develops feelings…

And you start pleading with it for mercy.

But that’s an entirely different story.

I ended up finishing the race in 58 minutes. My orange day glo running shirt was completely soaked, two women in their sixties passed me in the last 400 meters, I couldn’t feel my pinky toe, and I had sweat in my eye.

He-Man finished it in 54. His face with lightly misted with sweat when I found him.

After the race Chris, one of Kira’s coworkers, asked me how I did.

I wanted to be polite and cheerful, but at that moment I was displeased with myself and wallowing in a bog of social ineptitude.