As a rule, I try not to be too competitive with running. Running in small races around here has given me the chance to win some age group awards, and I certainly love getting a little bling every once in a while. But I always try to remind myself that the only person I'm really in competition with is myself, and as long as I keep improving, blah, blah, blah.
But I have one enemy. My running partner and I meet this enemy out on the road every morning, rain or shine. Yes, this fast (and I mean fast, not fat) bastard is a big yellow school bus. The bus picks up kids on either side of my driveway, and our daily mission is to beat that damn bus. A couple of weeks ago, we were running in the last 3/4 of a mile of our route when we heard its engine roaring down the hills and around the curve of my road. We picked up the pace. The bus got louder and louder, and we knew it was going to be close. My running partner threw in a kick like I have never seen (and we have run A LOT of races together). I thought he was going to fly, or maybe have a heart attack. I decided I better haul ass too (because of course, the kids waiting for the bus are watching this little competition). We beat it, but barely.
Yesterday, we beat the bus by a long shot. They must have filled up with the cheap gas, or maybe one of the juvenile delinquents put ice cream in the tank, because that thing just could not catch us. But this morning . . . we ate its dust. The bus was long gone and we still had a good 1/4 mile to run. I could practically hear the bus driver and the three kids who are on the bus that early taunting us.
Tomorrow? That bastard's going down.