I saw Dathan Ritzenhein at the Boulder farmers market last weekend. He was wearing a hydration vest, compression sleeves, and what looked like racing flats, even though it was like 9 am and the only race happening was for the last organic pluot samples. I walked up and said, “Hey, are you Dathan Ritzenhein?” and he didn’t even look at me, just muttered, “I’m in Zone 2 right now,” and continued power-walking laps around the microgreens stall.
Eventually he stopped at a honey booth and started asking the vendor what the bees’ VO2 max was and if they were “free-range pollinators.” The poor guy was like, “Uh, they just kinda fly around,” and Dathan goes, “Sounds inefficient,” and jogged away while chewing on a raw beet like it was beef jerky.
I saw him again by the mushroom guy, holding a lion’s mane in each hand and mumbling something about “neural recovery.” When the vendor told him the price, Dathan tried to barter with a signed bib number from the 2008 Olympic Trials. When that didn’t work, he whispered “You’ll regret this after my next Strava post” and vanished into a crowd of strollers and dogs.
As I was leaving, he popped out from behind the kombucha truck, looked me dead in the eyes, and said “Chia seeds hold the truth.” Then he took off in a full sprint down the sidewalk, yelling split times to no one.