In my interview with the very classy and very dignified Sarah Sauvayre, she had mentioned that she could occasionally beat her husband Pascal when they sprinted against one another, which started a nasty kernel of a thought in my mind – what if I tried to sprint against Sarah? Would I win? I’ve raced against Pascal and know him to be very strong, would I be able to beat Sarah if we went head to head? I began to consider a sprint off – one on one – not as fanciful as a dance off mind you, but very dramatic nonetheless. And if you think that I’m much too classy to take on this sort of challenge, I would suggest every word I’ve ever written as evidence to the contrary. 

The plan was to have our Riggs vs. King replay after the CRCA club race, which Sarah and I both started, of course only one of us would finish, but this is a minor detail, plus I was just tuckered out after my furious eighth of a lap at the front of the race. So as I waited at the side of the start finish line for Sarah to finish her five laps (yawn), I prepped myself for the big event. Would Sarah throw elbows? What would happen if I lost? Would I be less manly? Would I cry? Would I face the shame and ridicule of my compatriots in tights? And who in their right mind would care what men in brightly colored tights think about them anyway? 

I whiled the time away with these and other deep thoughts, until the time came for our battle royale. We scouted our battleground, and decided on a strip just after the straight after Engineer’s Gate. We made the first line on the crosswalk our finish and we rolled back together to where we would begin our sprint. We turned and proceeded side by side slowly to the start of our date with fate. 

I was on my “A” game that morning my friend. I leapt to an immediate gap and was able to prance to the line ahead of my vanquished foe. I only wanted for a carpet of thick smoke from a dry ice machine or even a power ballad serenade from Survivor to make the moment more poignant for me. I grasped victory from the clutches of a woman who had raced five time the distance I had on that morning, but no matter, I was the victor! 

I will now claim my hard-earned Ladies’ Sprint Champion of New York City title, and I will wear the moniker with pride. I will also not be replying to any correspondence from a certain Caryl Gale. Did you know that in German “schmalz” translates to “classy?”