Fast-Slow, or Slow-Fast?

For a while now, I've been wondering: Am I a fast slow guy or a slow fast guy? And either way, why are there so few of me?

I'm not saying these questions keep me up at night --it's really only something I end up thinking about during my "racing season," such as it is. Then I again embark on the semi-annual struggle to find a training partner (I usually fail). Then I again come to terms with the fact that, even in races with over 10,000 participants, I'll sort of end up running by myself -- too fast (by far) for the dilettantes, too slow (by far) for the real runners.

If one is the loneliest number, 8:00 is the loneliest pace for a half-marathoner.

I will say this, though -- on race day, my thin pace cohort is as physiologically diverse as any. Running an ocular regression, I see no clear "majority type" among those few who run at my race pace. You get fast kids on their way up. You get fast late-middle-agers on their way down. You even get the occasional prodigy (I was passed late by an 8-year-old during an April half last year) or medical miracle (two years ago, at mile 12 I finally passed my Race Nemesis (TM), a woman who probably voted for Eisenhower. Twice.). You get folks who look like Runners, and folks who look like Krispy Kremes with Optional Piston Attachments (TM). You get the occasional obvious multisporter -- lanky swimmers or rail-thin shaved-leg cyclists who need to log miles-on-feet in advance of their next half-Ironman. And you get a few of me.

But what am I, exactly? According to my orthopedist, it's simple: I am a Person-Whose-Physiology-Is-Completely-Unsuited-to-Distance-Running. At 5'11", 200 lbs, it's hard to argue with that. But I'm also a semi-serious runner who runs 50% for the fitness, 25% for the extra doughnuts, and 25% for the challenge of getting stronger, faster and better. I'll probably never hold a 7:30 pace over 13 miles, but a big part of me lives for that unattainable goal.

I just wish I had more people to share it with.