The Race

It all started at the Tavern on Wednesday night.

We all got loaded and Owen and I decided that the very next morning would be the perfect time to finally settle, once and for all, the trash talk that's been swirling around all summer about The Race. A swim race. 100 meters. Winner take all.
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Bill warned Owen that it was a bad idea to race me, but did Owen listen? No. No, he did not.

It was a beautiful, quiet, Thursday morning at 11 a.m. at Ocean Beach. I guess school must be back in session?

A kid named Mike duly took his place as our cheering section lifeguard.

A 50 meter pool is not for the faint of heart.

Owen stretched for what seemed like hours. Me, I stood at the edge of the pool repeating, "Are you ready?"

Our delightful friend Deb works at Ocean Beach, and has a whistle. She was our designated starter. We had to start from the wall, instead of diving in. I think that was protest #2 for Owen. Protest #1 was I was 5 minutes late. Because of Bill.

On your marks.

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Get set.

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Go!

It started out pretty close; it really did.

Relatively close.

I started to pull away, though.

And even though we were in the midst of a fierce competition, it was great being out there, being in a pool, being outside and alive and doing something cool on a summer morning.

By the time we we about to hit the wall at the 50 meter mark, the race was mine.

I owned the second 50 meters.

I think at this point Owen decided to give up smoking . . .

. . . or maybe work out in the pool more.

And..... Done. With nary a competitor in sight.

Oh there he is.

Nice job, buddy.

Good race.

Better luck next time.

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Now excuse me while I do my victory pool dance.