I love to run. Recently I ran a 5K (yah, all at once!). I ran my second best personal time. Unfortunately, the twelve-year old in front of me ran better. I know exactly how he did it. He cheated. He wore those short shorts from the seventies. I wore cargo shorts. Because his shorts have no pockets, he has no place to carry his cell phone or money for a Big Gulp. Of course, being twelve also means that transporting car keys is not a problem for this guy. My office keys alone cost me the race with little Peter Brady.
The race got interesting in the last few hundred yards. I ran strong, within 4 steps of him. I could hear him breathing. I edged closer, closer, closer! And then my phone rang. I answered before it went to voicemail.
All who witnessed this event know that if he wears shorts with pockets it's a different race. Then it's even. He hears the jingling of Big Gulp change and the ringing phone and the shouts of "Run Forrest, Run!" But he won't play fair. So next year, it's on. I'll stoop to his level and line up with some of those "running" shorts. And a belt for my cell phone pouch.
** On a bright note, I did finish ahead of the runner from Kenya. Man, was she ticked--almost fell out of her wheelchair. But we made friends before her granddaughter took her back to the nursing home.