Race Day

When Tiffany and her dad signed up to run a marathon in Oakland, I first offered to have a couple beers ready for them at the finish line. But I knew I would feel sluggish standing there in my jeans while they panted and sweated in their running gear, so I quietly extended some of my runs in the weeks prior to the race, telling Tiffany, "I'm thinking about doing half."

On the day before the event, I went with Tiffany and Gary to pick up their race packets and veered off into the same-day registration line by myself.

I handed the woman my credit card.

"It's 110," she said.

"What?" I cried.

"110 dollars."

"But the full marathon is $120!"

She nodded.

"Shouldn't my race be half as much?"

Ignoring me, she pointed down the line where I could pick up my $110 t-shirt.

On the morning of the race, Tiffany and Gary told me what time I should expect to meet them at the point where our courses intersected four miles into my race.

I checked their math in my head.

"Okay," I agreed.

Then I realized I didn't have a watch.

"I'll just run fast so I don't miss you!" I yelled as they ran off shaking their heads.

And I did. I ran those four miles as fast as I could, terrified Tiffany and Gary would set some father-daughter world record and leave me behind. I'm pretty competitive, as we all know.

The only things I do halfway are marathons.