The Elvis Run

I started my day yesterday with a little workout. A five mile workout. I am mentioning that fact basically for posterity, because that is the farthest I've ever gone in a single session. I'd like to say that I really enjoyed it, but the truth is it pretty much sucked. Today I started my day the same way, with a 4.25 mile run/walk. That puts me at 9.25 miles for in two days, which would be impressive if I weren't thinking about running 13.1 miles in one session this December. I have to admit that it's hard to wrap my mind around going that far at this point.
I've gotten quite an education since I started running. I've learned about things like chafing, shin splints, and blisters. I've learned how much difference a twelve dollar pair of socks and an expensive pair of running shoes can make. Most importantly, I've learned that running is neither the fastest nor the easiest way to lose weight. According to my calculations based on the work I've put in, I should weigh approximately 98 pounds by now. Anyone who has seen me recently can attest to the fact that I am not anywhere close to 98 pounds.
My husband and I ran our third race together this past weekend, the Running with the King 5K. It was held in Tupelo during the Elvis Festival, which is why most of the locals just call it the Elvis Run. The race route goes past the birthplace of Elvis, a tiny shotgun house turned museum that I must confess I've never been inside, even though I've lived minutes from it for 11 years.
This race even offered an award for the best dressed Elvis who ran. It turned out to be a guy we affectionately referred to as Karate Elvis with Sharpie sideburns. Kirk almost beat him, but not quite. Oh, well, at least it gave him something to think about during the race, trying to run down Karate Elvis.
My own personal battle was with an old man who bore a striking resemblance to Santa Claus. He was  dressed all in white, a little overweight, and looked like every step was painful. As I was sprinting to the finish (because that's what I do...I can't make myself walk across that finish line) I saw him, laboring along. Now don't get me wrong, I was laboring along as well by this point, but I am still a competitor. Over the sound of my panting and my leg muscles screaming for mercy, a little voice inside my head said, "Oh hell, no! You are not getting outrun by Santa Claus. You are half his age and you run nearly every day. You better speed your ass up, girl!" So I found another gear and got it done. 
I almost ran a personal best, even though my average pace was just slightly faster than that of a turtle. As I was bent over trying to catch my breath just beyond the finish line, a runner I had swapped places with for the entire race came up behind me. "You did so good! I was able to stay up with you most of the way!" I took me a moment to realize that she was talking to me. For real? I mumbled a "thank you" and then resisted the urge to add, "Hey Toots, keeping up with me is not a big deal. If you are using me as a measure of how you're doing, you'd better raise the bar!"
On another note, I have heard the term "runner's high." I have never experienced such a thing, nor do I have any idea what that is. After gutting it out to beat Santa I felt lightheaded and thought I might pass out for a moment. Somehow I don't think that's what the term means. I guess that's what you get for outrunning a childhood icon. Sorry, Santa. Nothing personal.