Can't. Stop. Thinking about It

Last Monday I ran a race. I have no hubris about my running ability; rather, I am fully aware that I'll need to be running when I'm 70 if I ever intend on winning my age division. But I do have hubris about my counting ability. I'm a mathematical statistician with degrees in math and statistics; I should be able to count, no?

On the course of this race they place little American flags in the ground. While running, you count them and then report your total when you finish. The closest to the correct number wins a prize. I was uber-confident going in; I thought I had this. I mean, three years ago I did have this.

Alas, I did not have this. Not even close did I have this. My reported number was 89. (My estimation of it was super awesome. Next year I'll have even a better plan of estimation, however.) The true number was 126. This is where I can't stop thinking about it. How in the world did I miss 37 flags. THIRTY-SEVEN. The only thing I can think of is that 75% of the race was on Rock Creek Trail and the remaining 25% was on a surface road. I didn't count any flags on the road, but maybe I should have. It's the only plausible reason. I didn't take my eyes off the ground once I was on the trail; there's no way I missed 37.

Do you see why I can't stop thinking about it? No? That's okay. My logical side tells me it's not a big deal. But my emotional/prideful side is totally maimed. It's good for me, I guess.



P.S. I included this picture to further humble myself.