Karma's a, well, you know

I'm too competitive for my own good.

I like to think I'm in shape. When I get on the treadmill at the gym, I like to believe I can hang with the people around me. I either keep my pace faster or, if I'm next to some young buck who starts off on a six-minute-mile pace, I run farther. For that latter scenario, it's a tortoise and the hare mentality: That fast kid usually gives up after a mile or two while I'm still pushing forward.

Not so today. Guy next to me started off at an 8.0 (7:30 mile). Me? 7.0. So I started ramping up the pace. By mile 2, I was at 7.5. Dude next to me? 8.2. I began to envision me racing with this guy, his silhouette fading quickly out of sight while I labored along getting farther and farther behind.

I upped the treadmill to 7.7—a 7:45-mile pace—and held on. Surely this guy would be stopping soon. Surely if I couldn't outpace him, I could outlast him.

But alas, I couldn't keep up. After five miles, I had to stop. Dude? Still going strong. I stepped off the treadmill, wiped it down and headed over to the weights, disheartened. Twenty minutes later, my treadmill neighbor finished his workout. He headed over to the lockers at the back of the gym to get his jacket. On the back, there was a logo: "Boston Athletic Association: 113th Annual Boston Marathon. April 20, 2009."

So much for complaining about resolution runners in my previous post. That's karma for you.

Happy running.