It’s strange. A few years ago, I ran in zero races. Until very recently, I ran in just one. This year, I’ve already run in three. The only one I really care about comes in two weeks, at which point, I’ll have completed four.

This time, it was the relay race that spends a day traveling 100 kilometers around the Palouse, end the end “going nowhere.” The weather often seems to be especially good for the weekend of this race, this year was great for runners, less so for others. A high of 50 on the Palouse, just a bit higher in the canyon, so nobody had to be especially concerned with overheating.

Catch it while you can
While not taking pictures of my team-mates running, occasionally I did get the chance to take in the scenery.

But for me, it was never going to be a concern. I started at 7:30 AM. By the time the earth warmed under the rays of sunlight that snuck past the clouds, I’d be long done. I had leg one. Two weeks ago, my optimistic goal was to complete my leg with an average pace of about 9:30 a mile. Last Tuesday, I ran the course with my friend and coworker. We averaged 9:00.

Yesterday, I ran the leg in 57 minutes. I averaged 8:42, rather a lot faster than I had planned. I shattered my goal. And the funny thing about that pace, I felt slow. I was frustrated. Frustrated by the hills. Frustrated by my own body. “Why can’t I go faster!”

I was sure that I was nowhere near my previous pace. As it turned out, I right. 8:42 is nowhere near 9:00. Bloomsday is going to be awesome.

I finished around 8:30 in the morning, and spent the next 8 hours drinking beer and taking pictures. It was a glorious day of camaraderie and shared joy.