Race day
get it over with. At 5:20 a.m., just off the highway, I kiss my girlfriend in the dark, then dash toward a red port-a-potty. The beginning of dawn seeps through the commode’s plastic walls. I hold my breath to avoid a whiff and hope to do more than pee. When I don’t, I exit, streaks of grayish light now illuminating the underpass where a corral of people shift in their various moisture-wicking apparel. Beyond them, several runners jog and skip along a frontage road. I join in, turning on my GPS watch for a short warm-up, then stopping to bend, swing and kick my arms and legs, easing blood into my muscles as I wait for the race to start.
