In the Rudolph Dash while running down Sunset, Chris and I uttered breathless irritation over the fact we were trailing a pack of kids.  Ever determined to beat age, I surged away from Chris and yelled back over my shoulder that I was going to take them.  That might not sound too tough considering they were about middle school age – not even teenagers – but from my perspective it was bold talk from a one-eyed fat man.  They still had 20 to 30 yards on me and there was no guarantee I wouldn’t seize up trying to overtake them.

I flew by the pack of kids with the graceful stride of experience.  That is until I caught up with their leader, this little blonde girl with braided pigtails.  Within half a step of gaining even with her, she surged.  I couldn’t believe it.  And when I caught up to her the second time she surged again.  Unbelievable!  This little bruja refused to yield to my overwhelming experience.  But I was ready for her this second time and held her pace.  I was close to failing to her tactics when she finally relented and fell to the rear.  Whew!  She almost had me.

But I was spent from that exercise and couldn’t fend off Chris as he passed me a quarter mile later.  I quipped to Chris as he ran by that I had paced him.  Smack talk in vain from a fallen fighter.  My smooth surge had stalled, my legs heavy with lactic acid – cursed by my blonde encounter.  If you race locally, beware the bruja.