And the winner is...

A few posts back, I mentioned that Patrick and I were planning on racing each other in a 5k on the Fourth of July.  After weeks of procrastinating, the stakes finally got set: the winner would have ONE FULL DAY TO THEMSELVES.  No chores, no work, no child rearing responsibilities.  Um, sorry Patrick, but you're going down.

For the child-less among you (I figure those with kids don't need an explanation) please allow me to clarify that I love my son more than I have ever loved anything on this planet.  He is precious and dear to me, and my time with him is treasured.  But the job of motherhood is all-consuming like nothing else, and as much as it truly is the best job ever, it is also the most frustrating/tiring/weary one...and a day off sounds like nirvana.

Now, I am 100% sure that if I asked Patrick, he would give me a day to myself.  But a day off that I haven't earned through any means but whining comes with a lot of guilt for me.  But a day off that I earned by leveling my beloved husband's rear in a race?  Bring it.

So I ramped up my training.  I did speed work: tempos, farleks, repeats.  All while pushing my son in the jogger and sweating like a wildebeest.  I started to think that I could really beat him.  Never mind that he's a guy...he wasn't training at all.  Victory was beginning to look assured.

And then, the week before the race, he decided to go running with me.  I was doing 3 one mile repeats, and since I am benevolent, I let him push the jogger on the first one.  After all, I am clearly in better shape and it only gets harder...so go ahead and take the 27 pound little mister and the 29 pound stroller first and I'll take them second (and probably the third, right?  Since I'm in better shape and all.)

After the second repeat, I am dying.  It is hot, and doing speed work while pushing 56 pounds is not my idea of fun.  But hey, at least I know Patrick will be down for stopping, right?  Wrong.  "I'll take him, let's just finish," he says.  What?!?!  NOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I'm supposed to be the one killing this workout!  I'm supposed to be the one laughing in your face as you finish in back of your wife!  I'm supposed to be the one getting a day off!  Especially that last one!  Halfway around that third repeat, I snatch the jogger back out of pure stubbornness and barely finish.

I am bummed for the next 5 days.  How do men do that?  Are they THAT much more naturally athletic?  Is all my hard work going to be for naught?  Even worse, if I win how will I know that Patrick isn't just letting me win?  That would be worse than losing.  So I turn to my only option left: to intimidate him and hence gain a competitive advantage.  Commence the trash talking.

I tell Patrick it's too bad he's going to lose to a girl.  I threaten to punch him in the kidney if he passes me.  I talk up how incredibly long this one hill of the course is (I have run this race before, he has not).  I remind him numerous times of all that time he hasn't been running.  I tell the people at the packet pick-up that he is going to lose to his wife.  I attempt to stuff him full of yummy vacation food like pretzel bread and ice cream.  I assure him that even though we're spending the entire week with my parents, I'm sure they'll understand him beating their one and only daughter in a race.  I earnestly try to get him to run with Quixx as the 6 million potty stops would surely slow him down.  I even think seriously about not waking him up the morning of the race.  Can't win if you don't run, right??

Finally, race day is upon us.  And like all things in scenic Benzie County, it starts at 8:11 (even though the paper said it would start promptly at 8 am.  Actually, 11 minutes past might still qualify as prompt up there.)  I try to take the pace out fairly brisk in the first mile as I have decided that my best chance is to tucker him out early and hope he lags behind.  He does not, but I do have a glimmer of hope around the 1 mile mark as we ascend a medium-sized rolling hill and he pants, "is this the big hill?" and I gleefully respond, "no!"

I continue to push the pace up the actual hill, but then we turn down a seasonal road.  Oh no, I forgot about this part.  Patrick is better than me on trails AND on long downhills, and this is both.  Crap crap crap.

I stick fairly close to him, and get the benefit of a road crossing to catch all the way back up.  We are neck and neck for the last half-mile...and then with about 200 meters to go, I start to sprint.  I can feel him behind me, but I literally say out-loud, "a.full.day.off...you.can.do.this."

With about 50 meters to go, I start to fear that I used my kick too quickly...and Patrick is right there again.  But, wait.  The chute is backed up.  THE CHUTE IS BACKED UP!  All I need to do is get slightly in front of him and...

BAM!  I spread my arms out like I am boxing him out, and show Patrick once and for all that I might not be the faster racer, but (for today at least) I might just be the smarter one...

Kelsey Esber          F 25-29    29     27:43.18

Patrick Esber         M 25-29    29     27:43.34