KENNEWICK — We were poised for an athletic event, but it seemed to be all about the "look."
There were knitted caps with comical turkeys atop, fluffy tutus masquerading as tail feathers and even a barefoot Fred Flintstone who may have left his sharpest blade in the drawer, along with long underwear.
Temperatures in the 30s had brought a menagerie to the American Red Cross Turkey Trot, many hoping for a photo op on Thanksgiving morning.
But not my race companions. We were dressed like real athletes: running tights, thermal turtlenecks and jackets, hi-tech gloves, and tennis shoes guaranteed to propel us toward the finish line.
“Hurry!” I called to daughter Traci and granddaughter in-law Jessica as we sprinted from our parked vehicle. “We don’t want to end up at the back of the pack.”
We were all about the 5K and having a decent finish time.
Wedged in between other hopefuls revving up for the signal to trot, we planned our strategy: run three minutes, walk one minute. With this tactic, we were sure to keep a good pace for the entire race.
Off we dashed through the heaving crowd, our expensive shoes weaving between baby strollers and decorated turkey feet.
One old lady even got an elbow to the ribs.
“OUCH!” I yelped and the other two gave me some space.
On and on we jogged — Mile 1, Mile 2 — we were getting close. Then finally, the last quarter mile sign came into view.
“We’re going to have a decent finish time!” I wheezed as our feet pounded the pavement, each step taking us closer to our goal.
Then, off to the right we caught sight of a familiar face. A camera was pointing our way.
“Stop!” we all cried in unison, our race time forgotten as others runners streamed past.
“One more!” I begged as we adjusted our stance.
We were “athletes” posed for a photo finish. After all, this race was totally about “the look.”