Oh yeah, the race

With a thin layer of ice and snow under foot, I set off from downtown Littleton toward somewhere south of downtown Denver with 1,300 (OK, 1,138 finishers) of my closest friends. We had bright sun and 20 degrees with no wind, but I was still surprised to be in a distinct minority of those people not wearing something covering their legs. Yes, mine are pasty white but still pretty damn ripped. And I've got to start getting some color on them somehow.

Anyway, I kept my pace reasonable, took a glass of water at every other aid station, monitored my heart rate (averaged 171, maxed at 176, no doubt in the final quarter-mile), and actually put up a little bit of a kick at the end. Final time was 1:39:23. I finished 142nd overall, 35th (I think) in my age group and first finisher from Wyoming. Gotta hang my hat on something.

During the race, I chafed the insides of my thighs something terrible. Afterward, I walked over to the first aid place and asked for some vaseline, which they provided. When they asked where I chafed I just kind of looked down at my shorts, and the ladies all nodded knowingly. One of them, who wasn't there when I silently indicated that I'd cowboyed the hair off that part of my thighs, offered to rub it on me. I replied, "No thanks. Besides anyone rubbing me down there has to buy me dinner first." The remark was taken in the spirit in which it was intended.

Now, on to the marathon after a brief taper.