If I had a million dollars
I’d be rich
— Barenaked Ladies
Three miles, a million bucks. My definition of a great run.
As we’re driving to the track, Mo and I make a friendly wager. She says five people or fewer will be on the track. I wager that there will be at least six. To make it sporting, we wager a million dollars. Lump sum, none of that annuity silliness.
As we pull up to the track, it’s just us and the tumbleweeds. I call Dad and ask if I can borrow a million dollars. He assures me he has no idea who I am and hangs up quickly. But a bet’s a bet. I mentally compose my “will run aimless circles for money” sign in an effort to raise funds.
We begin running. For about a mile, we have the place to ourselves. But, then. A woman shows up with a little foo-foo dog. They’re both on the track. I consider trying to pass off the dog as a runner, but the wager specifically said “six people or more on the track.” I must abide by the rules. Fair is fair.
Then, like the Miracle on 34th Street (although technically speaking we’re somewhere between Lawnview and Austin,) two kids show up and begin running laps. And then, a mid-30s guy. Count ’em up: The guy, the dog woman, two kids, and m and me. SIX!
Mo mounts a lame defense that we shouldn’t count ourselves. This is a CLEAR infraction of the rules. But we never said “six people or more on the track, not including ourselves.” I WIN!!!! She assures me she will pay up the million bucks, if I interpret her Seattle street lingo correctly (“I’m going to kick you in the balls” must be some signal of monetary transactions where she comes from.) Fair is fair.
First sub-13 average today, but who really cares. I’m RICH!
So three miles, a million bucks. That should go a long way toward the surgery to repair my busted boy parts.
Assuming my dad knows who she is and loans her the money …
3 miles, track, 6:30 p.m., 88 degrees
13:00, 12:57, 12:30