Ballston Blurb

“You’re running a 10k while the whole city runs a marathon?” So go the comments from friends, family and lately myself, since committing to you, my fellow taxpayers of Arlington, to deliver a respectable finish this October. By that I mean a 10-minute pace or a 62-minute conclusion, though we’d hope for better. Well sure, before I pinned on this bib I already ran at least twice per week for 30 minutes and for 12 years, though it has yet to feel like a habit. And in that first year of jogging I even creaked in a 10k race, which remains my only race to this day. But my second race, come October, will be different. First, I’m now aged 47. Second, I hate exercise more than when I started. Will I finish this October? No question, Yes. I owe it to you for seeing me wheeze by these myriad dawns, and with thanks for sometimes yielding the crosswalk, sometimes leashing your dogs, and sometimes placing your butts in trash cans although most often not. This summer watch for me stretching calves if not at the rising sun then at least at the first morning taillights of Arlington’s parking enforcement, whose awesome breadth spans all but the Central Library. Or circling the track of Washington-Lee, one of the nation’s costliest, as I build from a barely-in-motion amble to a modest hurry to a plausible jog to an all-out knockknee, all within a highly visible radius of the dewy beer bottles and gently tumbling food wrappers from the 7-11 clientele at Ballston Metro. Having hoped for a well-matched 10k training group but left adrift, then shopped online for a solo program and completed my first week, I’m flush with false confidence. So after the race I’ll let you know what kind of time I’ve run, what kind of time I’ve had, and whether I’ve been good value for your property tax. See you at Iwo Jima. Thanks.