Cowtown 2010 DRAFT!

The preparation for the race was minimal, I ran for a few days in January then ran for a couple hours in early February then carb loaded with some new friends at a great little joint on Seventh street. The key to my success would be low expectations. And, a big hat.

Even in the starting corral I could feel the effects of my cowboy hat, people were enticed to engage me in conversation- two triathletes running the half near me explained the finer points of the tri-style bike, and once we started moving two young girls in front of me began their discourse on how they ended up in Ft. Worth on the beautiful day. Before long I was coasting down Northside drive and feeling in top condition.

Every other spectator seemed to have a compliment for my headed wear and the interaction buoyed down toward Jacksboro highway. A converted Franchman in a Zidane jersey put up with me and my head butt jokes all the way to Rivercrest golf course. It was turning into a social outing more than a race: Constance was holding a party in front of her house, but it was on the wrong side of the half marathon split, so I had to settle for seeing her poodle. Bo's driveway was packed but only one of his neighbors was out this morning- everyone else was in the race. People around me were beginning to show signs of fatigue, stretch breaks, walking, but I tried to offer some kind words. I was running without a watch (I don't even own one) and depended on such nebulous clues to my progress as familiar runners, number of spectators, church bells, and mile markers- the tea leaves were telling me good things. In the Botanic Gardens I met-up with birthday gal Sue and we talked until her Galloway broke us up. Not long after that I ran through an intersection and was given a lift by the attending cop Chris, I was friends with her brother in high school, she noticed me and the hat- I almost didn't recognize her in her too-cool sunglasses. The course gets lonelier after the halfer's drop-off, about a third the humanity on the course and spectators thin-out too as the hours drag by.

You start to recognize the loyal family members making their way to as many points on the course as they can in support of their special whoever. A guy was running coverage for someone behind me on his bike- I would see him set at a corner watching the passing faces then a few minutes later he would pass me on his way to another good look-out point. My left foot threatened to put a stop to my as yet unending run, but a subtle change in my stride seemed to give me some relief. As I turned toward the now visible skyline I got an extra jolt and though I had been anxiously awaiting mile twenty, it passed almost unnoticed. I passed a guy fighting through some paralyzing leg cramps, turned-out to be Jason but he wouldn't let me stick around. Next Sue passed me. I crossed the bridge into downtown and started to feel the adrenaline, fighting myself not to get too far ahead of my pace, almost had a hamstring pull on Lancaster, then the run up Main to the finish line. I spotted Zidane on the sidewalk and got a fist bump, a woman called-out to me, " Don't sprint, I want to get my picture with the cowboy." I forgot all about my tender hamstring and we went up the street side by side, I waved my hat at the crowd and called for their help. I told her to put her hands up and we crossed the line with the crowd roaring. What a finish.

Jason wasn't far behind and I ran into Sue a little later, made some new friends, and plenty of memories.