Above: The sometimes-unrecognizable-when-not-in-swimwear Danica Patrick
The other day, I was perusing a few race reports (yes, I think this is fun) over at a random running site, and I came across the always-endearing and jovial phrase “getting girled” yet again. The writer expressed his experience in a recent 10k with touching eloquence: Yeah, so it was just sort of more of a training run instead of a race. LOL. I got girled at the finish line, but I wasn’t racing so it’s all good. Ha ha. Doesn’t really bother me, FWIW. LOL. This was capped off with a nice assortment of smiley faces just in case the reader was left with any doubt whatsoever as to the writer’s utter indifference about being beaten in the final stretch by a…um…girl.
Near the end of the race report, the writer unveiled his finishing time (with quite the flourish, I must say) as 48:52–A time within two seconds of his PR, but, you know, not a real effort or anything since some chick cranked by just in time to nip him at the finish. In front of his wife and two children. And three co-workers. One of whom brought along a camcorder. With a great zoom feature. LOL.
A couple of things come to mind. First off, while a 48:52 finishing time in a 10K is fine and dandy, I couldn’t help but notice (okay, I searched for it) that the women’s winning time for that particular race was 38:50. For crying out loud, the women’s masters time was 42:10. Oh, for the love of pete….the women’s grandmaster’s time was 42:35. Dude. You got girled, matroned, and geezered. And when you count all the dozens of women who came across the line between the geezer and you….A veritable stampede of estrogen in running shoes. Oh, the horror, the shame.
Deep consternation over being beaten by a girl is understandbale in, say, the second grade. Boys that age think girls are icky and stuff anyway. Girls must be vanquished in any athletic endeavour from mudslinging to nosepicking. I witnessed firsthand the resulting trauma of boys getting girled at this age last weekend during the Kiddie Run portion at the 5k I ran.* It was probably about a 100 yard run. The girls, for the most part, were pretty much lah, lah, lah, look-at-me- I’m- running-where’s-the-icecream, while the boys were deadly serious. As a result, when some of the girls began beating the boys, there was severe panic. Tears, giving up, and stomping wildly about prevailed. One youthful sprinter even marched over to kick the girl who had beaten him. Getting Girled sucks.
Still, I can relate in my own way. Why, just last year I got Man-With-Spare-Tire-Stomached in the last mile of a half marathon. Inconceivable! Humiliating! I mean, I’m supposed to be able to beat someone who looks like the Michelin Man, right? And then a mere two weeks later I got Dorky-Guy-in-RaceReady-Shorts-Wearing-an-iPoded right at the finish line of a 5k. I cannot believe that. When he passed me, I did everything short of having a coronary in an all-out effort to pass him back since, you know, he didn’t look like he should be able to beat me. To no avail. In my finish line photo, I’m all flailing arms and effort. But I’m directly behind Sir Dorkman. But no biggie. After all, it was only a 5k, not a real race. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Ha ha ha. Doesn’t really bother me, FWIW. LOL.
*And in which, incidentally and totally unimportantly, I beat 85% of the men.