Jen, you see, is one of those ambitious go-getters: She's president of the Forsyth Humane Society (for which I edit a quarterly newsletter) and she's been in charge of the 5k both years (for which I volunteer). I'm wondering if you see the pattern? Jen does incredible things and drags me along. It always sounds like a good idea to help out, except half of what she needs me to do involves getting up before dawn. Noah is one of those freakish people who likes
There was a lot to be emotional about: The fallen officers being honored by friends and relatives running the 5k; the two—count 'em, TWO—three-legged dogs also running in the 5k; and then (and this is the kicker), Noah always manages to do something faintly cinematic at the end of all his races. For his first race ever, a half-marathon, he stretched his arm out toward me as I ran alongside him among the spectators to the finish line. You could practically hear Bette Midler beating her wings.
This time, when I saw him approaching the end after just coming of a giant hill, he valiantly attempted to overtake another man, and the two sprinted across the finish line side by side. It was the most exciting finish of the day. And guess what? He got second place in his age group, as well as second out of all the law enforcement officer runners. There was a medal involved.
Already the story has been transformed to the stuff of legend, as all great tales are wont to do. It's been established that he practically won, since any number of accidents or twists of fate might have left the first-place runner(s) sidelined for the event.
At any rate, it was good enough to make me forget how terrible it is to get up dark and early on a Saturday morning. Which Jen is certainly going to capitalize on for next year.
*Get it?! It's a play on the Yiddish. Ferklempt! ... Anybody? Oy. I'm such a schlemiel.