Three miles in the morning in 23:11. In the evening, I had a 3k cross-country race. Due to my sprained wrist and sore throat, I didn't think I'd do very well, but I decided to run nevertheless.
After about three hundred meters into the race, everyone else had dropped back except me and the leader. Not having the strength or the confidence to break away like I did last week, my plan was to draft behind him for as long as I could. Hopefully, I would make it to the kick. About 1000 into the race, I was feeling strong and tried to pass the leader, who was a short 12-year old with a really fast turnover. Kind of like Aiden Troutner, but faster. His face was flushed and he looked tired, but he managed to hold me off, so I decided to keep drafting and bide my time. Around 1800, I tried to pass him again, but again, he held me off. It was probably good I didn't, because we were about to hit the biggest hill on the course, and leading on the hill might be enough for him to pass me back. With 600 to go (2400 into the race), I made my move. I had survived the hill, even surging to wear him down. I think that was the best place to pass him, because the finish line blocked by the trees, there were no spectators cheering him on, and all the factors combined to demoralize him (Who says there's no child psychology in running?). I ended up with 10:54 and winning by 10 seconds. My wrist never bothered me once. Much more than I was expecting.
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