Sports Day

The field stretches forward interminably. It seems yet more intimidating than it did before. The freshly-painted white lines dividing the lanes appear to merge into one in the middle-distance. Nervous giggling. Dry throat. Twitchy legs.

A small prayer on the starting line: "Don't let me be last, please don't let me be last. I don't have to be first but please don't let me be last!"

Everyone is watching. Everyone in the WORLD. Or so it seems.

The whistle blows and it all kicks off, everyone jostling for position. Some fall back and others seem to fly. Like the sound of train wheels the mantra is silently repeated: "Somewhere in the middle, somewhere in the middle, somewhere in the middle..."

Chest thrust forward, head thrown back, legs pumping. Eyes half-shut, tongue clamped between teeth. Mustn't fall!

First place is taken, second, third. Then fourth, too, crosses over the plastic cord on the scorched grass in this school field. FIFTH! Fifth out of ten! That's not bad at all. Perfectly respectable. Head can be held up; not too high, but up nonetheless. A sticker is thrust forth: "Well Done!"
God, I hate the mothers' race.