identity theft

I've been waiting my entire life to fit in and now that I finally do, I'm not so sure I like it. I can no longer tell someone I ran the Boston and expect them to look at me like I'm some sort of god, or better yet, say "what's that?" Instead I get, "Oh, what year? Yeah, that was my 11th Boston. The weather really sucked that year, didn't it? Hey, I'm doing this 50-mile trail run race this weekend...interested?" I no longer get looks of awe and "are you crazy" when I tell someone I went mountain biking for two hours in a hail storm yesterday. Instead I get, "Yeah, yesterday, I did this 12 hour adventure race and then, after grabbing a quick bite to eat, went out and rode for 3 hours in the moonlight with a few of my buddies."

On my way home after a long hike in Rocky Mountain National Park with my cousins yesterday, I decided to stop in Boulder to see if I could still sign up for the Bolder Boulder, a 10K running road race on Memorial Day and the largest of its kind in the nation. As I drove around town for 20 minutes looking for a place to park (which I never found), I was appalled at what I saw: 10 year-olds riding $2000 miniature road bikes to the candy store; every third car with a bike on the roof; beautifully sculpted bodies walking down the street in their chacos; people riding bikes everywhere you turn--serious racers out for their training rides, commuters, dads pulling their kids in buggies... Hey, wait a minute...that's my gig. You can't do that. The more I saw, the angrier I got and I finally had to leave without signing up for the race. Let them have their stupid race. I don't need 40,000 Sarah clones to run with. I can run my own 6.2 miles wherever I want.

I am officially, no longer, crazy Sarah. I am now completely ordinary, below average Sarah. Congratulations. You got what you wanted.