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Why Race?
When we were all younger and firmer, my husband was a competitive runner and our daughters were Dad groupies. Upon returning from the crusades, battle scarred and sweaty, the girls would surround him, hopping around with Barbies in their fists and shrieking, “Did you win Dad, did you win?” The situation was such that sometimes he could truthfully say yes and a cheer went up, yeah, and all was happiness. But sometimes when he was being silly and honest, he said, “No, I was tenth.” Not only was he tenth, he was colder than yesterday’s starlet.
