Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. I let an arrogant, yet discreet, grin grow with each feather fall of my feet on the packed dirt running path of Lake Calhoun. A woman 10 years my senior is running towards me on the opposite path and it seems the opportune time for me to pull a bit more air to give my chest a larger profile. I watch her facial expression dip into self-disappointment at the ease of my gait and the difficulty of hers, and add insult to injury by passing her some soft pity in my nod as we pass. It says, “Hey, but at least you tried.” I chuckle to myself. She won’t last 10 more minutes.

Thwap. Thwap. Slight delay…Thwap.

I let myself slide into autopilot rounding the midpoint. The back half is always my strongest. Over my shoulder I look back; Mack is huffing and heaving a quarter-mile behind me. Bless. He had me in our college days but too many Seamless dinners, letting his beloved lacrosse equipment gather dust in their four-car garage and popping out two kids gave him quite the beer belly.

Thwap. Longer delay. Thwap.

“I love this song!” I shout while SoundCloud pours 80’s nostalgia into my inner ear. Just then, a good-looking high-school kid with a glistening six-pack gives me the mutual runner nod as he passes. I glance down at my shirt-hidden four-pack (and I’m 40) and consider myself still one of his group.

From behind me comes a skittering sound—Flit. Flit. Flit.

Looking over my shoulder: “What the fuck!?” Mack has closed the distance by half and is coming up hard! His eyes are bulging, sweat soaks his shirt and has almost claimed his shorts too. I marvel. He always was a fighter but he’s scarfing air like a fat hog with heart arrhythmia.

Poor guy. If he thinks he can keep this pace, he’ll be face down in the sand volleyball court at the three-quarter mark with a double coronary and Instagram pics of his sweat-drenched ass crack .

Thwap. Thump. Thwap.

My instincts tell me I’m holding an 8-min pace. I crossed 6:50 a few weeks ago but think taking care of my hammies this run is the smarter choice.

Flippit. Flippit. Flippit.

I can’t look back.

The volleyball courts are approaching and Mack’s elephant-heavy stomps behind me are getting stronger. Ahead, a gorgeous Scandinavian with a U of M t-shirt stretched to its limits across her chest runs hard towards me. She ignores me, looking right past to something else that leaches the birth of a flirtatious smile onto her face.

Flump. Flump. Flump.

I won’t give him the satisfaction. Damn. Those footfalls are hard…and purposeful…and close! 

We pass the three-quarter mark and we’re heading towards the boathouse. Fuck! I gotta hold on. My chest is tightening. 

Did that 8-year-old I just passed giggle at me?!?!

Uh-oh.

I can see Mack’s hands swinging in my peripheral vision. He’s right on me! 

I’m hating him now for his 6’2” frame and long legs. I’m 5’8″ and have to kick 1.5x for each of his! Oh, shut up. I know I’m 5’7”.

I can feel his wheezing breath on the back of my neck. It’s hot and determined. His heart’s gotta be in a vice about now but he’s keeping up.

I push it up a gear. My hip pops and I can feel something cracking in my ankles. His snigger smacks me in the back of my head.

Fump. Fump. Fump.

My chest…is that my heart! Oh God. 

The boathouse is only a few hundred ya—he’s making a move on my right! What?!

A mother’s mouth falls open and her daughter is pointing at the two of us. She’s so alarmed the woman has to pull her in to comfort her.

100 yards. He’s gonna pass me!

Tunnel vision is coming.

50 yards. We’re neck-in-neck!

My eyes are rolling back in my head, but I know this path, I can finish it blacked out.

10. I’m ahead.

5. He’s ahead.

We both crane our chests forward going under the flag. But we don’t look. Instead, we turn to share our gleeful smile with each other, the competition having sparked out our twentysomething selves still recognizable on these middle-aged faces. Bodies giving out, we both tumble onto the pact, brutal, dirt/grass to the smattering of shocked gasps of passersby worried one of us will have a heart attack. We give each other an unashamed high-five and simply yell in unison, “Tie!”