FAILURE

I'm devastated.

It happened two days ago. It was a day that I will never forget - June 3rd, 2018.

Remember that date. It is a date that will live in infamy. It was the date of my greatest failure.

All my life I have wanted to complete a full marathon - all 26.2 miles. I have trained for one numerous times and each time I have sustained injuries which have prevented my participation in this coveted event. Instead, I have been a spectator, watching with envy as those whose bodies were much more forgiving than mine were able to complete this grueling event.

It has taken me many years to finally uncover the issue that has inhibited me from finishing a marathon. Realistically, the problem was staring me right in the face.

The problem was training.

Logically, if one is getting injured during training thus keeping them from competing, the answer to this problem is to not train at all. That should at very least get one to the start line and, with some good fortune, to the finish line. To that end, this year at age 69 may be my last chance given the reality of the onslaught of old age "stuff".

So I chose the North Olympic Discovery Marathon to be my last shot at this coveted prize. The race runs from Blyn, Washington to Port Angeles, Washington along the Olympic Discovery Trail.

So, with a minimal training regimen which involved walking Scooter around the block twice a day plus one trip to the mailbox (not including Sundays and holidays) I found myself at the start line of my event with two goals in mind:

1. To finish the event.
2. To finish dead last.

As I went past the starting line at 6:00 a.m. on June 3rd, I witnessed the procession of people around me promptly leaving me in the dust. By mile three the pack of runners, walkers and wanna-be's like me was gone and nowhere to be seen. Looking behind me I could see no one. My last place victory was in my clutches - all I had to do was finish. That was easier said than done.

Mile 8 brought on self-doubt (I'll call the wife to come pick me up)
Mile 13 brought on frustration (I'm not even halfway there)
Mile 18 brought on amazement (I've daydreamed past the last 2 miles)
Mile 22 brought on hope (I might just do this)
Mile 25 brought on happiness (The wife called me. In tears I proclaimed "Honey, I'm going to do this!")
Mile 26 brought on severe soreness in all parts of my aging body
The finish line brought on relief and the realization that I had met both of my goals - finishing and finishing dead last.

7 hours, 53 minutes and 45 seconds

Victory was mine.

As I was quaffing a beer at the finish line and talking with the race director I peered at the finish line relishing the incredible feeling of completing the event that had eluded me for many years. In the distance I saw two figures approaching.

It can't be! I've failed miserably - I didn't finish last.

Failure is a tough thing to face.

Readers, enjoy your day.