Sittin on the edge of the bed (sung to the tune of "Dock of the Bay"
"That's a great race. You can PR on that one for sure" The youthful face in front of me effused enthusiasm. Though his words were well-meaning, they failed to grasp the obvious fact of my age. At 60, my "PRs" were set long before he was born. We were discussing upcoming races and the merits of each. My primary criteria these days are a flat course and who has the best snacks afterward. Being a "masters" runner still feels odd to me. I've run nearly all my life, my first official race occurring in the field behind Ray Marsh grade school at the age of 10. It was my first day as the "new kid" and reports had been circulating all day about the upcoming, dreaded 600 yard run. I had no idea how far that was, but I was told I should be terrified because we were all likely to die. The whistle blew and a hundred knees and elbows sprung into forward motion across the frozen Kansas field. I remember little except for opening my eyes about 50 yard...