Thought a few of you may be interested in a quirky running saga: I turned 40 today and followed through with a plan to mark the occasion by trying to break 60 seconds for a 400. Warming up on the local college track, I had to laugh at myself: I was actually nervous before my self-imposed event!
My younger and spry-er brother ran the middle 250 in the lane next to me--yes, I'll accept rabbits--and I came through the 200 in 28-something (just glancing at my watch). But my legs were already filling up with lactic acid as I rounded the curve, and soon I could tell I was slowing down.
The last 100 meters seemed to take an eternity, but I kept hoping the last few weeks of plyos and push-ups and hill work would pull me through. I hit the line, punched the watch and looked down: 59.71! The conclusion: old, but not dead yet.
I know most of you all are a lot faster than I am now or ever was, but I wanted to share the story anyway. The beauty of our sport is that from El Garrouj (sp?) and Gebresellaise all the way down to the likes of me, we can all relate to setting a goal and running our hearts out to meet it. That makes this is a hell of a sport to grow old with.