Chasing Sara

Since my coach took away the option to listen to music while we train for our Ironman, I’m stuck spending a lot of time alone with my own thoughts. As y’all can imagine, that’s a bad idea. I spend a lot of time thinking about all kinds of shit that would be better left buried in the relatively shallow depths of my psyche. Contrary to popular belief, I ain’t all that deep.

The last few weeks I’ve been obsessed with another girl on my team, Sara. She’s this nice, pretty girl that is always just ahead of me on every run work out we do. I literally chase her around Los Angeles on the weekends. Usually just as I almost catch up to her she jackrabbits off ahead of me. She’s the Road Runner to my Wile E. Coyote.

During our 14 mile run last weekend I decided that if they were to make a documentary of my quest to complete an Ironman, the working title would be “Chasing Sara… a Middle Aged Woman’s Quest to Catch Up With a Perky 20-Something Blonde With a Perfect Ass.”

During this week’s run, after cursing her with “Damn you Sara!” each time she passed me on the run course, I started doing a little mental compare and contrast activity to keep myself busy. I compared Sara’s inherent qualities to mine. Here’s a basic breakdown so you understand better my obsession with Sara.

Sara for her part is tolerant of my obsession in that way that all well-raised young people are tolerant of the elderly. She’s too well mannered to say “Surly, you’re one weird ass old woman. Leave me the fuck alone.” Which really, is what she should say. It’s true, I am. And I should. Only chasing Sara, and the fleeting hope that I might actually catch her, is what distracts me from the aches in my legs, stiffness in my shoulders, and the seemingly never ending stretch of asphalt under my shoes.

Sara – As I Only Ever Get To See Her – From Behind

One thing that Sara and I do have in common, other than thinking I’m a freak, is that we’re members of the Dead Relatives Club. We’ve both lost people important to us to cancer. Doing something to help find a cure binds us, although if she didn’t know me from this experience, odds are her gut instincts would warn her to cross the street if she saw me approaching – and, again, she’d be right. I’m lucky she’s a good girl and a good sport, as chasing Sara is now an integral part of my making it to Cast Iron Bitch status.