I have often said that there are things runners talk about amongst themselves that in any other "normal" conversation outside of running would be construed as insanity. I am not sure that there is any other sport on the planet where people talk so freely with one another about their bodily functions. I've had men and women who are complete strangers running alongside me in races who start telling me things that are going on with their bodies during the race that I really did not need to know.

However, all race topics are just idle chit-chat compared to what is really important to us as runners. There is nothing, and I mean absolutely NOTHING, that is talked about more than "No. 1" and "No. 2" (If you don't know what I'm talking about, stop reading this story, go and drink 3 liters of water, have some black coffee and a bran muffin, and you'll figure it out in about 15 minutes). If bladders had vocal cords, I can assure you most would be screaming about 2 minutes before the gun goes off at any race, which always stirs a certain amount of panic in each person especially when there are no available potties in site (for the women) and no available bushes or trees in site (for the men).

Outside of running, I have been involved in many big and important meetings in my life, yet I do not recall waiting for one to start and turning to my co-worker and saying, "This is so nerve-wracking. I have not gone No. 1 in about 30 minutes, and my regular No. 2 should have happened an hour ago, and I don't know what I'm going to do if either one happens during this meeting." Yet, this is pretty much what ALL runners discuss at one point or another before the start of a race. I'm not sure who we envy most, the man or woman who can run a sub-3:00 marathon, or the guy and lady who just came out of the portable potty and took at least 5 minutes, and they have this huge smile on their face indicating that they have achieved the mission we all hope to accomplish, completing Nos. 1 and 2 simultaneously. It's as if there should be someone there to hand out some sort of special medal to these people, because ALL of us standing in line are hoping for the same success. At that point, a PR is not about a Personal Record, it's about Personal Relief. Of course, on the flipside of that, you have those who finally open the pottie door, emerging with a look of dismay and failure on their faces, having been in there at least 10 minutes with no success while the rest of us were outside dying, and we could hear them in there chanting some ancient mantra, no doubt with their eyes closed thinking about Niagara Falls, a warm bath, a semi-truck backing out of a garage, or a lumberjack successfully falling a tree.

Sometime in the early eighties (probably nineteen eighty-"2" now that I think about it), my Dad called to tell me there was going to be a 5K (3.1 miles) fun run put on by his company and they had really been promoting it to the employees and were expecting about 100 or so runners. He informed me that since the race was only open to employees and their immediate family members, he was only aware of one other runner that might be faster than me (that should give you an idea as to how slow everyone was) and that I probably had a good chance to win the race. Since I had never won anything in my life, I was naturally excited about the prospect of finally having a chance.

The morning of the race came and the weather was perfect. I had been training very hard on my speed-work, and from what I had learned of the other "fast" runner, my chances were pretty good for a victory. The start was scheduled for 8:00 a.m., and we arrived about an hour ahead to get checked in and get our bibs on. After I had gone through some brief warm-ups, I got that feeling that you get when you know the freight is ready to be delivered, so I spotted the portable johns that were set up about 100 yards behind where the starting line was, and headed that way. I looked at my watch, it was just after 7:45 and there were no lines, more than enough time to complete my mission and get back to the starting line. As I got settled in and comfortable after the initial shock of the cold seat, my mind began to wonder ahead to the race. I could imagine the crowd chanting my name as I came down the finishing stretch and broke the tape. They would probably have a special medal made up just for me, and the theme song to "Chariots of Fire" would most likely be renamed "Chariots of Robert". I could imagine... BANG!!!!!!!!

It took me a moment to come back to reality, but I could have sworn that my ears and brain had just registered the sound of a pistol. I looked down at my watch, nope, it was 7:55 and my watch was always accurate to the second, so no way was that it. Wait, what's that? Sounds like lots of feet on pavement moving at once? Surely not... I bent forward from my throne and unlatched the door just enough to peek out only to see the back of the pack had reached the starting line and the race had already begun! As quickly as I could, I got my shorts up (I'd be lying if I told you that hygiene was on my brain at that specific moment) and bolted out the door as fast as I could, covering the first 100 yards back to the starting line in what had to be record time for me. I continued on in what amounted to almost a dead sprint for me all the way to the first mile marker. I kept looking ahead for the leaders, but they had at least a 30 second head start on me and were completely out of sight. I was picking off runners one by one, weaving in and out and pressing ahead faster and faster. Mile 2 came in what was certainly a PR (Personal Record) pace for me, and now I could finally see the object of my mission. About 200 yards ahead of me, I could see a pack of around a half-dozen runners, and about 50 yards ahead of them, the guy I knew I had to beat.

With now less than a mile to go, I had expended so much energy just trying to catch up that my legs were screaming in pain, but I kept moving forward as fast as I could go. With about a half-mile to go, I caught the pack and passed them, and now all that was left between me and certain victory was the leader, who was still a good 100 yards ahead of me. I put my head down and just gutted it out, trying not to look up to see if I was gaining ground on him out of fear that he was only increasing his lead. Out of nowhere to my right I hear a voice yell "3 miles" and another voice call out a time and split that were inaudible to my scrambled brain. I now had one-tenth of a mile to go, a mere 176 yards, and I looked up to see him within 50 yards of me, and he appeared to be fading. The bad part was, so was I. With all the strength I could muster I gave it one last push and got to within 30 yards of him as he crossed the finish line in first place, me in second.

Because the race had started and ended in the same spot, I immediately went to the race organizers and compared my watch to theirs and they had the exact same time I did. When I questioned why the race had started early, they simply replied that everyone had checked in and they decided to start ahead of schedule. On one hand, I was really angry, yet on the other when I stopped to think about my position, it was pretty funny, and since it was a "fun run" being put on by employees who were not experienced runners, I simply chalked it up as a unique experience.

Moral: Before any race, think twice to go two, too, or you just might finish #2 twice in the same race.