In a country where 60% of the population is overweight, I�m definitely proud to say that I do my fair share not to increase that number by even a speck. My buns. They are a-movin�.

I�m fully aware that the thought of running four miles on my slow-poke days was impressive to me a mere few months ago. These days, when I don�t clear this time in an acceptable pace, I�m wondering what�s up. Why aren�t I getting any faster? Why am I not seeing much return from my efforts?

Well, Sunday�s half marathon was absolutely awesome, despite every issue I woke up with and my recent disappointments with my training.

The cold sore as angry as ever, refusing to budge to allow my toothbrush access to my sleepy mouth. A little Vaseline cured that, though I made myself bleed when I impatiently pried my mouth open.

Those rotten tonsil stones that come and go were also in full force. Some picking and gagging later, and I was rising my cleared out (and now functioning) mouth with Listerine.

My throat was slightly sore. I didn�t get enough sleep. I was cranky. Blah, blah blah.

I gave myself a mental scolding for being a sissy, changed into my racing outfit, and headed out the door for Grant Park.

My goal for this race was to not walk except through the water stations. With the recent training difficulties, I didn�t think this was even a possibility. Conceding that I wasn�t as prepared as need be, I joined the 2:45 pace group. They were running for five minutes and then walking for one, dragging their pace to a 13-minute mile.

After about fifty yards of that nonsense, I was done and gone, resigned to running however I felt, at my own pace.

By mile three I caught up with the 2:30 pace group. Now, this sounded more along the lines of how the morning left me feeling. Eight minutes of running. One minute of walking. 11:30 pace. Nice and easy. No complaining.

However, I abandoned that group within their eight-minute run portion since I also couldn�t go that slowly.

By mile four I was pretty pleased. I was moseying along, eavesdropping on everyone�s conversations. I somehow missed a mile marker along the way, and it was quite a boost to find myself at mile marker six without the slightest clue that I had already gone that far.

At the water station around there, I noticed that this big guy was also moseying along at my Paleolithic pace and walking only though the aid stations. I stayed a few steps ahead or behind until he broke the silence at mile marker eight when he asked about carbohydrate gels.

There really wasn�t much more conversation than that. (He lives in Champagne, is running the Disney marathon, and has a brother who also ran the race that day.) Just having someone equally as pokey to follow without the obligation to make conversation kept me going.

One of the things I love about races is when people who finished long ago go a bit up the course to cheer the rest of us on. These people usually announce how far we�ve got left from that point -- a great benefit to people like me who like to finish a race absolutely exhausted, knowing that I couldn�t have done anything more to better my time.

Sure, sure. Running like I did this weekend wasn�t anything spectacular time-wise, and I definitely could have gone faster. However, my last 400m were quite impressive. I passed several of my fellow slow pokes up to the point that the announcer saw me coming from the back and read my name as I crossed over the finish line.

Pretty cool, if I say so.

I�m all out of time right now, but there�s the summary of my last race. Have a happy Wednesday, all.�