Who Needs a 5K?

Today the unthinkable happened. I was on my way to our newly designed (CRAP, I tell you, a four year old could have created a better lay-out) Wal-Mart. About halfway to the door, a little old lady begins walking next to me. We're traveling at roughly the same rate of speed, something like -3 mph. She sees me, I see her. Just like a camaro provoking a mustang at a red light, this lady wants to race. I give her my biggest "eat shit" smile and assume that scares her off. A few steps later, I see she's still staring at me.

Unable to accept defeat to a lady three times my age, I attempt to pick up the pace. I realize I'm at a slight disadvantage to her. After all, she has a cane, diabetic shoes, and a fanny pack on. I'm sporting flip flops and a purse that weighs more than my unborn child. I continue to walk for all I'm worth, aware the whole time that a woman nine months pregnant really shouldn't be in a hurry for anything.

We're neck in neck, and a few feet from the "finish line", I get a swift kick in the bladder from tag-a-long. Grandma passes me. I get a good glimpse of the blue hair and sweater set she's sporting.

What's even more humiliating is the fact that when I'm in the checkout line, I spy the back of her freshly set hair, and yes, she beat me out the door.

I literally got passed by a woman who probably parks in the handicapped spots. But really, what good is a 5K run when I can race a geriatric patient? The good news of this story? I've made it to 40 weeks pregnant and probably made her day at the same time. Hail, hail, pregnant lady.