The Marques Carroll Quintet is like straight out of late '50s early '60s hard bop, which is actually when I was meant to be haunting jazz clubs anyway. Then again, I was age 0-6 in the late '50s and early '60s so they probably wouldn't have let me in jazz clubs...even with the beard.
I passed the guy at the top of the hill, not working at it mind you, just moving along in rhythm, and I think he really really wanted to pass me back. I didn't have the heart to tell him I ran 8 before I even lined up at the start. End of the Boilermaker Half Saturday. (I ran 1 after, too. 22.1 mile day. And taper.)
Lesson learned on the hilly (we even had a couple kind of mountain goaty paths to traverse under cliff faces) rocky and rooty (and sneakily covered by leaves) trails at France Park: racing this stuff is like whitewater canoeing. You've got to keep your eyes aimed downstream to see the obstacles in time to react. Learn something everyday. And I didn't hit the dirt once today.