It was “Chariots of Fire” meets “Rocky.” OK, more like “Back To School” meets “Prefontaine.” Either way, I have the world record.

I'll say it again: I have run the fastest time in the history of the world!

As I write this, it's been more than 48 hours since my record performance, but it still hasn't sunk in.

What it is, was the Putterhead Milk Mile held Saturday evening on the track at Concordia Seminary. Regular readers of my column might remember last year's story where I was merely an observer. This year the race directors (Bishop Dwenger cross country alumni) changed the name to protect the innocent. And at my suggestion, they also added a master's division (participants age 35 and older).

For those not aware of the area's most unique running event, this is the Milk Mile: drinking 12 ounces of chocolate milk and then running 440 yards. Repeat this three more times, and you will have consumed 48 ounces of 1 percent chocolate milk and run a full mile.

Sound easy? Well, speed is the thing. And there are penalties for spilling (10 seconds) and for throwing up (a fifth lap of running). Occasionally a participant is forced to do the vaunted fifth lap; rarely does a finisher keep his milk down for good.

There is a time – typically between say, oh, three seconds and three minutes – that finishers become a human version of Old Faithful.

But back to me setting the world record.

You may be surprised to learn that the Milk Mile was not an original idea when this group started its version six years ago. Fact is, running clubs all over the world hold such contests. There is even a Web site where the official world record book is maintained.

At beermile.com you can find world records for all types of running-drinking (or eating) races. Before Saturday I was unaware times were recorded in such contests, much less documented for posterity. But now that I am the world record holder, well, I sure am glad.

The growing popularity of this event resulted in an event-record 53 participants Saturday divided into four heats. We five “old guys” were in heat No. 3 with 10 other runners, all in their teens and early 20s, who were Milk Mile veterans.

On the starter's command, my first glass of milk went down in an astounding seven seconds. Then before I knew it, I was striding around the first turn. I paid no attention when one of the “kids,” Lucas Smith, blew past me down the backstretch. I wasn't racing Smith, less than half my age (his 20 years compared to my 43) as much as I was racing to finish and keep my dignity (and dairy) intact.