At the beginning I managed to hold back, conserving energy as we headed North from the cafe. By the time I hit the turn around at I-44, I was firing on all cylinders. There I was, passing people left and right, feeling pretty good about myself, when this guy in vibram five fingers comes out of nowhere, with huge heel- striking strides, leaving me in the dust. For some reason that ticked me off. I refused to let this guy out of my sights. Irrational, I know, but the perfect impetus to finish strong. While I never was able to catch up, I probably ran faster than I would have otherwise. So thank you, Mr. barefoot heel- striker, for being the perfect hare.
I finished at 49:03. Nothing special in the grand scheme of things, but an effort I could live with.
The organizers are to be commended for serving real beer.