I was in the country-side north of Harrisburg with a group of co-workers at a dinky bazaar and flea market. I challenged my co-workers to a race from the bazaar to Mechanicsburg. We define the route, and determine that some of it will be driving, and some of it will be a foot race.
I start trying to use every shortcut I know, and knowledge of the area ot my advantage, hoping to gain the upper-hand on my competitors, but it seems they know if fairly well themselves.
We completed the driving race almost neck and neck and made it to the Conodiguinnet Creek, and I prepared for the long run up the steep hill on the other side. I make it up the hill and I'm drenched in sweat, and it's night time by now, and very dark and cold. I can see my own breath, and sweat in my shirt feels like it's turning to ice.
I run by one of my co-workers who compliments me on making it so far, and the speed I'm putting out for my weight. I reach the parking lot of the final objective and I think I'm in the lead, so I raise my arms Rocky-style in celebration. I'm also really proud that I ran so far without wussing out.
I get closer to the finish line only to see all of my competitors closing in from all directions, but they assume that I've already won since I got there first. But I had already stopped and lost momentum, so if they figured out that I hadn't won they'd certainly beat me.
One of my competitors bends over and smiles as he catches his breath and cocks his head to the finish line. "Finish the race?" I smile, but before I can shake my head, he takes off running. I try to follow, and realize that he's MUCH faster than I am, and I'm going to lose. But I watch as he runs towards the wrong monument. He got the finish line mixed up!
I and everyone else turn towards the correct monument (a set of doors?) and start running. Our faster competitor realizes his mistake and takes off for the correct monument. I stop and reach out my hands to slow everyone else. "Let's let him have this one".
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