Sunday, September 24, 2006
Not a Pretty Story
I walked out the front door yesterday and Emmy was watering her garden. I told her about the 5K. She said, "I'll go with you! I don't jog, but I'll do it with you and keep you company."
"Oh, but Emmy. I'm going to jog. I really want to see how fast I can go. But there are walkers, too, so you can walk. And we can meet up before and after the race." Somewhere in here I should say that Emmy is 58.
So this morning, there she was, out front waiting. We drove to the polo field to register, and started at the back of the pack. Emmy said, "There aren't any walkers! I don't want to get left behind!"
"Emmy, it doesn't matter. Nobody knows us!"
But she started jogging along beside me. She had some jingling things in her belt that jingled as she jogged. Soon she asked, "Do your legs hurt?" Then she said, "I'm not used to this."
I told her not to hurt herself–to please stop jogging and walk. So she started walking. After a while I didn't hear the jingling sound anymore, so I knew she was way back there. When I had jogged about 3/4's of the route, I came to a sharp turn by Crossover Drive that I was afraid she might miss. I decided to turn around to see if I could see her and to point out the turn to her.
Here's where the story gets kind of bad.
I turned around. She was walking 3 feet behind me.
She just wasn't jingling anymore, maybe because she wasn't jogging.
To make a sad story short, she reached the finish line before I did. But we each got a ribbon for finishing. The good part is, I didn't come in last in this race. Another woman crossed the line after I did.
Emmy and me