THE BEST OF 2012

As is sit back with a mug of hot chocolate, I'm been thinking about a 5K I ran not long ago when, to my great surprise, I found myself in third place midway through. Now, granted, this wasn't the NYC Marathon; only 50 or so runners had gathered for this race in Rock Creek Park. But in over two decades of racing, I've never been close to winning an award, so I was surprised, and even amused, to find myself in that position.

The race hadn't started out as anything special. It was run on an out-and-back course, starting with a short flat section, followed by a long, steep downhill, more flat running to the turnaround, and then a hard climb back up that hill and on to the finish line. I knew the course well, since I had trained on it regularly, and had even raced the same course a few months earlier. There was nothing about the way I had run that road previously, or by the way that I felt that morning, that would lead me to believe that this would be a different kind of day.

I began with a friend. I assumed we'd run together for the whole race, but when we turned left and dropped down the big hill, I began to speed up. I assumed that after the road flattened out, I'd find myself somewhere deep in the pack. Except that I didn't. Instead, I came off the hill feeling strong.

I surged ahead, enjoying the moment. I passed a few people, and then a few more. I knew who the leader was; I had spotted him before the race as someone who looked fast, and sure enough, he took off as soon as the race began.

But in front of me now there was only one other person, and ahead of him there was just open road.

Just then, the first place runner blew past us going the opposite way. There would be no reeling him in. But this guy right in front of me, he was catchable. If I could pull off that feat, I'd be in second place. But how to go about it? For the first time in my life, I needed to come up with a strategy to beat someone.

I decided to pull alongside him before the turn-around, and when we took the turn and momentarily lost our rhythm I would put on a quick burst of speed to open a gap and then maybe use the hill, which I knew so well, to drop him for good.

I surged ahead and drew even with my competitor. I gave him a quick "hey, how ya doing?", delivered as calmly as possible. I wanted him to believe that his top speed was easy for me, and that if he were to push me, I would punish him by running much faster.

In other words, I tried to lie to him.

Shockingly, my plan seemed to work. We rounded the turn-around cones and I leapt to the front. Up ahead was the big climb back up that hill. If I pulled ahead just a bit more, I would be out of my rival's view for a few moments after I made the turn onto the hill. A strong move then might completely dash his hopes of catching me.

I made the turn and jumped ahead. I gritted my teeth and took the discomfort, and when I looked over my shoulder, the gap between me and the other guy had doubled. My little plan had worked.

I turned back toward the finish line and began my final drive, giving it all I had. I crossed the line gasping. When the awards ceremony was held, I stepped forward to claim my reward and to pose with the first and third place runners. I felt like royalty.

At almost the same time that I was racing, a good friend finished second in another 5k race, too, except that he was several minutes faster than I'd been. I might not even have finished in the top 20 there.

I didn't care. In my race, I was faster than all but one other runner.

It was a good year.