When contemplating a smorgasbord of humiliation such as yesterday's 10K Milk Run down in Vermont it's really very hard to know what to dish out first.

Do I mention the fact that the tiny, frail looking man who won in the 70 and over category, a man who looked as if the next stiff breeze would tip him over, finished the run exactly 17 minutes faster than I did?

Or how about at mile five, knowing that I faced another mile of pure uphill running, being passed by a man my age who was at least 30 pounds overweight and looked about as much like a runner as I look like a super model?

And then there's my personal favourite�not being able to catch up to a tiny little eleven-year-old.

I came this close to losing my will to live.

Conditions were miserable. It was stupidly humid and hot, as in the 80's (high 20's C). The last half of the race is run on pavement, which just radiates heat back upwards, so it was like being in my very own outdoor convection oven .

Oh and it gets worse. Almost all that pavement goes uphill. It was pretty brutal since I've done almost all my running either in an air conditioned gym or outside during our unseasonably cool spring.

Even the gifted runners felt the heat. Last year's winning time was 36 minutes and change and this year's, well this year's was a hair over 40 minutes.

And me? I shaved two minutes off last year's time, coming in at one hour, ten minutes and ten seconds.

Yes, I have a new personal best. It is an embarrassingly slow personal best, but it is mine, all mine.

Despite running appreciably faster than last year, I did not get a bright, shiny trophy. You can well imagine my bitterness. This year a bunch of women who ran in the 40-49 class ended up in the 50-59 class because Time Marches On and all.

Would it have killed them to fib about their ages, stay in the 40 something category and leave me a small hope of actually getting something shiny for my near death experience? Huh? HUH?

I think not.

Three of these newly minted 50 somethings came in under 60 minutes which means my chances of ever holding a bright, shiny Milk Run trophy ever again are slim indeed. I am being extremely brave about all this, and working through the pain of that realization.

Unfortunately, I'm not doing so well with the fact that Mr. One Foot In The Grave The Other On A Banana Peel ran the 10K 17 minutes faster than I did. Seventeen Freakin' Minutes. That thump, thump, thump sound you hear would be my head smacking the mouse pad.

At the end of the race I looked terrible, face beet red, shirt stuck to body with sweat. It took me at least 15 minutes of walking and stretching out to get to the point where I felt even vaguely human. The spousal unit was shocked when the first words out of my mouth were about next year's Milk Run.

"You're not going to do it again?" he said, clearly incredulous that anyone would put themselves through this much suffering willingly.

I told him I think that with work I can do better and I intend to do just that. I will never, ever come anywhere near the winner's circle when it comes to running, but that's not the point. I want another personal best and dagnabbit, I'm going to do my best to make it happen.

And hey, if I keep this up, maybe by my 70's, I, too will run a 10K in under 60 minutes.

It could happen.

--Marn

P.S.�In honour of her husband Keith's recovery from brain cancer, Keri is running the Relay for Life. You can help her raise money for a cause very close to her heart.

Mileage on the Marnometer: 655.39 miles. Half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over