How I was outrun by a 70 year old man…who was walking.

Apparently the runs I do are full of blog worthy mentionings. Mentionings is not a word. Being outrun by someone is definitely something I have been used to my entire life. I will never win a marathon, hell, I will never win a 5K. I like my running like I like everything else in my life: slow as shit without exerting too much energy. I hate trying.

I managed to do a 38 minute run the other day. I have my next MEC Race Series 5K this Saturday and plan on crushing it. HOPEFULLY THERE AREN’T ANY OLD MEN IN MY WAY.

When I ended up by the University of Alberta, I came upon an older man. He was about 30 feet in front of me and trucking along with a fast paced walk. I managed to keep the 30 foot distance for longer than I expected. Turns out, his walk was the same speed as my run.

I decided to step it up in order to pass him. This…unsurprisingly, wasn’t easy. Fucker kept PACE. And like I said before, I hate trying, so trying to speed up sucked. The only time I speed up during an ACTUAL race is right at the end when I can see the finish line and want to sprint* towards it.

But I did it! Congratulate me! Once I was right beside him, I saw he wasn’t just an older man; there was no way he was less than 70 years old and definitely had back issues. Once I got about 15 feet in front of him, I slowed back down, only to hear his footsteps speed up behind me.

Goddammit, grandpa.

outrun

So I sped back up again. I saw the end of the long ass road ahead and knew my turning point was coming up soon. When I turned around to start running back home, grandpa followed. He could have kept going straight, or he could have gone down the hill but no, he just haaaaaaad to come back my way. I was ready to give up running when I switched back but since my run is as fast as an old man walking, I can’t imagine how slow my walk was compared to him. No way was I going to let him win this pretend race I made up in my head.

Halfway back, I stopped. My shoulders and biceps were screaming at me, which sucked because I definitely felt like I could have kept going. The sun was also blazing down on me like old man Zeus was all “old men have to stick together” even though he had nothing to do with the sun so this reference makes no sense and is stupid. Oh look, the sun was apparently one of Zeus’ eyes. So he was GLARING AT ME. I will complain about the cold and bullshit winter for 6 months straight and pray for sunshine and heat, but as soon as I start running outside I’m all A LITTLE CLOUD COVERAGE AND SLIGHT BREEZE WOULD BE THE TITS.

About 5 minutes later, I hear old man’s footfalls right behind and then suddenly passed me. I think to myself, okay, pick it the hell up. So I start running** again.

I find that once I stop running, it’s hard for me to keep it up when I start again. I’m too busy thinking of my couch and how much I would love to be eating cheese instead of being upright. I pass grandpa again and think MWAHAHA only to be hit by karmic cramps and am forced to stop again.

Grandpa saunters on by.

You win, grandpa. You freaking win. And off into the world he walked, hopefully snickering on the inside that he beat a healthy 29 year old female at running….by walking. I only hope that when I’m 70 and probably not dead, I can be active as hell. Good for him, man.

He’s the hero we need, but not the one we deserve.


*jog slightly faster.
**slow jog.

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3 thoughts on “How I was outrun by a 70 year old man…who was walking.

  1. rural spaceman

    I was overtaken by a man in his 70s in a half marathon once. Not that it wasn’t something that had happened to me before. This time, though, the man in question was pushing his adult son in a wheelchair. It was only marginally worse than being overtaken by a pantomime camel.

    Reply
  2. Jonelle Patrick

    Ahahahaha my sistah. When I was in school, I used to run every day, and because I wanted to get that shit over with as quickly as possible, I went to a track nearest my dorm. But NEVER at noon. Because at noon, a group that even called themselves the Angell Field Ancients would be lolloping around at a punishing pace, passing me in their knee braces and back corsets.

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