First of all, I would like to say I love my parents very much. I just want to be clear I may not follow in my sisters' footsteps, who handily--without whining, crying or collapsing--finished the race before mine, "The Family Fitness One Mile." From what I've been told, back in their younger years they were made to compete in the "Toddler Trot," as well.
Fine then. This shouldn't be too bad. We're a team, right?
I'll bet Dad can still run pretty fast with me in his arms.
I have a definite advantage over all these poor saps below me.
Hey! Ho there! Putting me down? What? We're a team remember?
OK, fine then. This shouldn't be too hard.
If I pace myself I can stay ahead of that chick in the pink coat.
Maybe I've gone off course.
Please disqualify me so I can get out of here and take a nap.
Where is my stroller? Where is my DAD?
Seriously, this can't be happening.
I'm going to wake up and it will all be a bad dream.
What? Did you say "jelly beans at the finish line"?
This is fun for you? Abandoning your small child in the middle of a field to be gawked at by adults? And I am to grow up in this "healthy way of life"?
Come on now! I believe outside assistance is allowed in this race! Pick me up!
But hurry Dad, don't let the chick in the pink coat beat me.
Great. I got a medal. You happy?
Editor's Note from Mom:
Make no mistake. The Boy can run when he wants to.