Go, you chicken fat, go away!

Another early morning Saturday run with Mike.  Glen did not want to come today.  20 minutes is not enough time for me to get ready in the morning.  I can get dressed in that time.  But I can't poop.  I packed some TP with me because I had a feeling, oh boy did I have a feeling.  Right before we were about to take off, my bowels loosened up.  I wandered off in the woods and found the same place I did the deed last time.  Mike was kind enough to wait for me.  After I was done I walked back to the parking lot, took one last stretch and started to run.  I had a slight lead on Mike and he didn't catch me until about 1.6 miles.  When he did, he was breathing real hard.  It sounded like he was snoring.  I almost asked him if he was okay, but it would make for a better tale if he would collapse and then I start chest compressions on him to save his life.  But alas, that didn't happen.  I stayed right behind him.  Around mile 2.6 he completely stopped and hunched over.  Was this my chance to perform life saving maneuvers?  Nope.  He started running right before I got to him.  I kept him in my sights for the rest of the run.  He runs so much faster than I do on the downhill.  I wanted to break the 10 min. pace this morning.  I would occasionally check my Strava to see if I had a chance.  I could tell it would be close, and I tried picking up the pace.  I would have to run it under 1 hour and 14 minutes to do it, (or very close to that.)  Right before I turned to enter the parking lot, I looked and I was a few seconds over.  I wondered if I'd make it.  But the final pace as recorded by Strava was 10:00.  I was kind of bummed, but Mike encouraged me that it's still progress.  He's right.  It was a good run.  Not a single cyclist this morning.