DR, will have to schedule that website party featuring Conan movies.

Yesterday I got JINGLED—jingled at the Jingle Bell 5k! The earlier than usual race time called for a Saturday reveille shortly after 6 a.m., and I awoke to the pitter patter of dismal drizzle against my window. It was a dark and dreary morning worthy of a Victorian London shilling shocker, indeed. But the event would go on regardless, so I went through the hallowed preparations post haste. Although I arrived at the Marine Museum just before 7:40 a.m., the parking lot proper had already exceeded its max capacity, and therefore I had to seek harbor behind the medical center. A bustlingly busy race day registration/packet pickup zone had been erected under museum’s deck pavilion, and after filling out my data with shivering-shaking fingers, I was directed to the chip timer station. I thought they’d be like buttons you pin to your shoe, but instead they were more akin to the contraptions department stores attach to clothing merchandise so as to alert them when shoplifters attempt to abscond from the store with captured cargo in tow. And they wrapped around the ankle via Velcro. After fighting through the crowds in the museum’s men’s room (scores, nay, hundreds of people were milling about hither and slither everywhere), I ran into Perry and Crystal upon exiting the building. Then I discovered good sir Alden standing expectantly near a waterlogged storm grate. It was a grand reunion about three moons in the making, and I took the liberty of hiding my gym bag ‘n’ water jug under his close-at-hand car. Soon we espied a hardy, burly-looking fellow wearing an Annapolis 10-Miler windbreaker by way of 1999 that looked just a tad too tight on him, and I was reminded of Joe. Wait, it was Joe! For the time being, his squire was confined to the shelter of Dora the Explora. The hour was growing late, so I took off on a hasty warm up down the island with Perry. We turned around just before the scarcely noticeable bridge that initiates the true island and doubled back to the vicinity of the museum just in time for the Rudolph Romp kick off. My niece didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she loved all the cheers from the crowd and she almost (sort of) completed the 10-foot race, receiving a second-place red ribbon (however, I’ve been told that there was only one other baby in that heat). The romping continued age division by age division, culminating in a 100-yard dash for 10-year-olds that even I probably would’ve been hard-pressed to win. Then along came Santa Claus, heralding the start of THE race. There were MASSES of participants—over 400, they claimed. Yet despite those formidable figures, the start line was still only about as wide as the shoulder spans of 10-12 men. Dozens of people—including myself—rushed for a competitive spot, and the front lines were soon choked by frenzied bottlenecking. Then that jackass Santa came over a’ ho-ho-ho’n, barking, “Keep moving back! Make room for more runners!” Well I defied jolly old St. Nick and held my ground. But so did everyone else, and the narrow space only got more congested. And get this: mere moments before the start, some obnoxious, acne-faced high school pipsqueak standing behind me rudely begged my attention and, with a sweeping gesture, said, "Hey, when we start, make sure you move out [of the way]." He then turned back to a female companion of similar diminutive size, who gasped and giggled, "What did you say to him??" Incredulous, I glared at him coldly and then, under my breath, seethed, "We’ll see about that." I do not abide trash talkers. But damn, for it being a holiday, charitable fun run, there was certainly an aggressive atmosphere! None of that preliminary hostility, however, compared to the hoof-pounding, breakneck intensity that ensued succinctly with the start of the race. It was a stampede for the ages, and the two or three elementary school children who’d weaseled their way up to the front line were very likely trampled. I was buffeted from all angles by carelessly careening chargers, and someone even shoved me semi-violently from behind for no apparent reason (could it have been the trash talker?!). Of course, as always happens on this course, some front runners attempted to turn left onto the museum entrance road, and only a last second scream of "STRAIGHT!"—uttered by some unidentified cartographer among the ranks—stopped them from going astray. Turning onto the Solomons Island main road after ‘rounding the medical center, I realized just how miserable this race was going to feel. Yes, it may have been 20 degrees warmer than last year, and the rain may have stopped, but the low-hanging skies looked like they could burst again at any moment, and a cold, clammy dampness permeated the air—the kind that creeps right under the skin and chills one’s very bones. And puddles were everywhere. Splish! SPLASH!!! Stump—the incumbent Jingle Bell champion three years running—and a few other fast fiends had shot irrevocably ahead, leaving me tied for seventh with, you guessed it, the trash-talking pipsqueak. We were moving at a rapid pace, to be sure. When the one-mile mark cone came into view ( a couple hundred yards off), I looked down and was shocked to see that my watch was still ticking in the 4:00s. I passed that cone in 5:41, somewhat ahead of my intended pace. Someone should have warned me that the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long (and I had burned so very brightly). Well, things started falling apart around then. I soon found myself fighting to stay among the top 15 runners, and I lost track of the smart-mouthed runt. As the course branched off onto the Solomons Island back road, another audacious kid addressed me, noticing that I had a watch. "What pace are running, man?" "Uh ... I just did 5:41 ... I’m trying to [maintain] 5:50." "Cool." And then he shot ahead of me! Whilst self-motivating with my claim to fame that I never let anyone pass me after the midpoint of a 5k, I was defied by some grim fellow who stole past me right before the Tiki Bar. And then, to my further dismay, I hit two miles in 11:53, just one second faster than my Step-by-Step two-mile split and indicative of a sloppy 6:12 second mile. It was high time to BANK time. Me and the aforementioned foe passed each other back and forth a couple more times, but I established a permanent lead by the time I reached Our Lady Star of the Sea. Unfortunately, no one in front was within reasonable striking distance (Victor P. and Travis P. had gotten waaay ahead), so I was essentially running solo for the rest of the affair. Now, my major goal had been to break or hit 18:30, so the real key was to reach the three-mile mark by no slower than 17:50. Approaching the museum road turn, I thought with delirious elation that I was ahead of schedule, as my watch had just begun ticking into the 17:00s. But alas I’d made a fatal miscalculation! Somehow I’d gotten it into my head that the three-mile marker would be standing erect immediately after the turn off, but no—there were a good fifty yards yet to go. I ran three miles in 17:56 (thus a 6:03 third mile), leaving me less than thirty-five seconds for that damn final two-hundred. Oh, I kicked, I flew, I blasted off, but it just wasn’t enough (having absolutely no competition was a drag, too). I crossed that 5k finish line at 18:32—so close yet so far way from my goal. But hey, it’s a 12 second improvement over my Step-by-Step time, so I’ll take it! My comrades in strides had extraordinary races—for the most part. Perry pierced the 21-minute threshold whilst Crystal got her time down into the 23:00s, so PRs for both of them. After that, it was all about the race for the ages: Joe vs. Alden! Back in 1999-2000—Joe’s era of running glory—most race commentators would have scoffed and guffawed at the notion of Alden vanquishing Joe in a fair and square 5k. But times have changed, and while Joe ran on merely two occasions in the three weeks leading up to Jingle Bell, Alden trained diligently. Still, I gave Joe the benefit of a doubt that he’d have enough natural ability and superior racing experience to edge Alden out regardless. Wrong! As the finish clocked struck 26:00, I looked up and cheered at the approach of the winner—Alden! He brought it home in 26:27, a lifetime PR (and the chip time will surely be lower). Now, I assumed that Joe would at least finish on the heels of Alden’s arrival, but the clock kept tick-tocking with no sign of him. Finally, just when I was preparing to send forth the rescue St. Bernard’s with mini-barrels of hot chocolate attached to their collars, Joe materialized and put an end to the race in 28:11 (not his slowest 2007 5k time or even his second slowest). But hey, he finished with dignity, and still beat dozens upon dozens of people (mostly walkers). Also to Alden’s credit, he ran the race in non-running shoes—one of which was split wide open along the side. I did not get my hopes up for the awards ceremony, what having finished somewhere between 12th and 15th overall behind numerous dudes who looked like age group (men 19-29) rivals. Poised to relive the suspenseful disappointment I suffered at Chaptico this year, I listened with rapt dread as they announced first and second place awards for guys who were not me. I was just about to hang my head in shame and turn away when the announcer said, “And in third place for the men’s 19-29 group ... David ... Raley!” That meant me! The recompense wasn’t a Jingle Bell headband like last year but rather a Jingle Bell baseball cap. So for the record, I’ve placed six races in a row this season. That’s not ordinary—that's extra-ordinary!

I wish I'd had some people to race against at the end --- it was just me vs. the clock!

Yes, we were just discussing that in an e-mail. A mistake was definitely made. There should not have been any deviation between the chip time and clock time since I started right up front, and if anything, the chip should have lowered my time, not raised it by eight or nine seconds.

It all sounds really haywire to me, but the heading at the top did say "unofficial results." I'm hoping the CBRC will get things straight before the post the official results.

This is a very intriguing set-up, and completely atypical of Charm City Run to botch something this badly. Usually their events are first class all the way. I thought this was supposed to be a CBRC event, though? Why aren't they handling the results? To be honest, I'm kind of surprised CCR is doing an event this far south. Did someone say something about the race not having enough timers for everyone, or am I remembering wrong? That would seem strange for a race with only four hundred people.

I think it's kind of unfair to throw Charm City Run completely under the bus for someone kicking out a cord. I don't think they can be blamed for the chip timers not registering time correctly. They didn't invent the technology. As far as I can tell, since CBRC was registering people for the event, wouldn't they be responsible for putting out team registration forms? Of course, I am partial to CCR being that I've had many great racing experiences with them up my way.

I tend to agree. It's kind of gratuitous to have chip times in a race with only 370 people or so.