Race

This morning my mom and I got up early and ran (actually, we walked) in the 5K race that this community always has for the 4th of July. We always walk - one year I even pushed a stroller with a two-year-old in it - and we still usually get medals. I guess most of the women in town of our (advanced) age have better things to do. This morning I did not get a prize, but my mother was third in her age group. Whoopee! It was a lot of fun, as it always is.

And then, there is the race t-shirt, which I can wear for the year and pretend I'm an athlete. I always look to see where articles of clothing are made, and that's the first thing I did after I picked up my number and answered the question about what size I wanted. The shirts - blue this year - were made in the country where I live. Once they arrived in the United States, they had an American flag printed on the front and the names of the race sponsors on the back. It's strange to think about the journey my t-shirt has made, and thinking about it interferes with my culture-shock-reducing strategy of pretending that the US and the place where I usually spend my time are on two different planets.

My son couldn't understand why I didn't win a prize. He kept bouncing around at my knees, saying, "But Mom, you won! You came to the finish line!"

Yeah. By that definition, I won.

After the race, I had a pretty American Saturday. I ate, went shopping, watched some TV. And, of course, I checked out the Saturday Review of Books.