One of the funniest articles I've ever read about running (and yes I read a lot). Thank you Joe for letting us post the article. You can visit his website at www.joedonatelli.com

My Battle With the 12-Minute

There's running. You know, tossing the football back and forth, playing beer-league softball, chasing the kids around the yard.

And then there's RUNNING. Racing against 600 competitors in a three-mile long battle of wills between your feet and your ego.

On Wednesday I went RUNNING for the first time in my life, joining four coworkers in the Washington D.C. Capital Challenge. As members of the press we were invited to compete against congressmen, administration officials, their staffs and a slew of Washington insiders including Health and Human Services Secretary Tommy Thompson and Kansas congressman Jim Ryun, a former Olympian.

Let's just say I have a brand-new appreciation for the fine art of swiftly placing one foot in front of the other. The first thing I noticed was the incredible fitness of my opponents. My unconventional Don Zimmer body type stood little chance here. Also I noticed that many of my male foes wore very, very short shorts. Apparently the cover-up is no longer fashionable here in Washington.

The race began at 8 a.m. I started in the back with the "10-minute mile" contingent. This included two of my coworkers, one of whom I attempted to stymie by telling jokes during the first few hundred meters. I was so funny that she beat me by nine minutes.

Nonetheless, the first quarter-mile felt absolutely wonderful. Hey look, there's the Anacostia River, rolling by like blue steel. Aaaahhhhhh. Oh hello Mr. Sun, come to run with me this morning, have you? These people around me? I think I can beat them. I honestly think I can beat them!

Then, right as I was hitting my stride, I was struck down by genetics and what can only be called an overzealous carbo-loading regimen begun 20-some years ago. No matter how hard I tried, everyone ran that much faster. I felt like I was running through sand, like my legs were stuck in wet tar, like so many Vanderbilt defensive backs. I was passed by older ladies, older men, guys with knee braces, knee braces running by themselves. I never made it near the congressmen, though I started off behind Indiana Sen. Dick Lugar, who dusted me early—despite being 70 years old.

Two things I learned during the race:

1. I am not fast. Some guy juggling four balls literally beat me by a mile. My only regret was not tracking him down after the race and throwing him into the river, just on principle.
2. Sen. Lugar has the smoothest legs I have ever seen on a man. Striking.

Back to the race.

After one mile, my attitude soured. People I did not know told me to "Keep it up" and "Keep on going." The last thing I needed at that point was some roadside do-gooder handing out water telling me, "Almost there buddy!"

Almost this.

My fury reached a crescendo as the juggler made another appearance on his turn back. Hey look, there's the Anacostia River, stinking by like an open-air toilet. Aaaahhhhhh... cough. Oh welcome back Mr. Sun, come to suck the last drop of perspiration out of my body, have you? These people around me? I think I hate them. I honestly think I hate them!

But at the halfway point, joy of joys, I saw that I was actually ahead of some people. As many as 30. Excited, I picked up the pace. Since my thighs and ankles were numb, running no longer hurt. I galloped past an old guy with a knee brace who tilted severely to one side. Then I sailed past a grandmother who was a foot shorter than I. Nearing the finish line, I spotted my coworkers who cheered me on, having nothing better to do because they had finished 15 minutes ago.

With 100 meters left, I found myself locked in a mortal death race with an editor from Kiplinger's Personal Finance Magazine. Needless to say, my controversial carbo-loading regimen finally paid off when I found enough juice for a "kick" at the end. Also, I was motivated by the site of a pastry table beyond the finish line and the very real possibility of strudel.

I did it.

I finished.

I broke the 12-minute mile. My unofficial time—35:58.00. And in the battle of wills between my ego and my feet, my stomach took first place.