Chariots of Fire

The 30th birthday seems to have passed with little real trauma, the only sour notes caused by our 5 year old, who having sensed mummy was not happy being 30, now tells everyone he meets that his mummy is 30. Bless. My low key approach appears to have been gratefully received. I can do somethings right sometimes then. My current problem looming on the horizon is my son's sports day - Thursday afternoon. My wife is playing the pregnancy card to avoid the Mother's Race, it's far more versatile than a get out of jail free card. This encumbers me with the parental participation project - I am by default liable to partake in the Father's Race. I now wish I had taken more note of potential rivals when dropping off and picking up my son. I have no real idea, except for one or two, what the calibre of his classmates' fathers are. I am in my late 30s and although I play 5-a-side football every week am not fooling myself that I am in prime physical condition. As I am fairly tall, and I am expecting a relatively short race I am hoping that my initial burst of speed couple with a long stride will see me through. My consolation is that I will be able to show my son that it isn't the winning that matters, but the taking part. I just hope I don't come last.