The old lady rounds a corner just past the three-mile mark, doing what she herself calls “the granny shuffle.” She gulps air. Her lucky Pole Cat Creek baseball cap is pulled low over her eyes, though mercifully the rain stopped just before the start of this 5K.

There aren’t many runners behind her, but she’s got her sights on one ahead, a woman wearing a pink singlet over a white long-sleeve shirt and matching pink and orange Nikes. On the sidelines, the old lady’s two daughters—who’ve finished their own races—and one of her granddaughters (not yet a runner) are jumping up and down, screaming. “GO, GRANDMOTHER!” But she doesn’t look at them, doesn’t smile. She dares not glance down at her watch (the numbers are a little hard to read anyway), but she knows she’s close to her time goal. “GO, GRANDMOTHER, GO!” There’s still one more left-hand turn before she’ll be able to see the finish clock. She creeps by pink-and-orange Nikes. Later she will say, “I knew she wasn’t in my age group. I just wanted to beat her.” But now: Where’s the finish line? “YAY, GRANDMOTHER!” Her lunatic kinfolk have attracted the attention of other people milling around the finish line—spectators in raincoats, runners sipping water and eating bananas—and they, too, clap and cheer. “Good job! Good job!” Her form has deteriorated, she can barely lift her feet off the ground, her mouth hangs open, her fists clench. But there’s the line, there’s the clock, she’s well under her goal of breaking 50. Not only that, she’s nailed her age group, which is particularly satisfying as this year she isn’t the youngest in it.

With a time of 49:20, she has won a gold medal at the Senior Olympics. She’s 87.