PAIGE 47 - RUN, MR ERIKSSON!

I dressed up in my refurbished prisoner suit, got a whistle, and put on the black baseball cap. Then I went down to the reserve, and looked around for people who seemed like sprinters. What do sprinters look like? Like Finns, apparently. At least the one did, who was jogging on the spot. I said hi are you Russian? He said no. I said phew neither am I, we'll have to team up. I'm Olivia Paige, the referee for the 100m sprint. Pleased to meet you, not-Russian. He said he was John Eriksson. He also said he was pleased to meet me. Now there are two.

I parked Mary up by the track they had marked out with paint, it was just a section of the regular old dirt walking track, but a very straight section. That way she could watch all the action, and we didn't have to listen to her ruin famous songs with her horns. Some organizers gave me a bunch of gold medals to hand out to the winners, and I placed them all in my hand. Then I went up to the Finn. I said, Mr. Eriksson, my dear comrade in this Triathlon who is not a Russian, which is the start and which is the end? The start was by a tree, and the end was by a signpost. Also, I should mention they had marked out lines alongside the main track in the grass for the other contestants. Some other Russians talked to me, and I talked to them, and they said they were in the race, and was I the referee. I affirmed, and said do not fear I am a veritable referee, and not a prison escape artist.

The time soon came, as time tends to do. I was there at the signpost, ready with my eyeballs to track the fastest human alive. They crouched at the starting line, imitating tigers (one of them had a orange jersey with black writing, he did it the best). They waited for the signal. I blew the whistle. The tigers leapt. They sprinted. They ran. I'm out of verbs now. They crossed the line, and what do you know it was good ole John Eriksson who came in first place. By a mile! Not literally because this thing is only 100 metres. I said John Eriksson have you ever considered going professional? He said that's how I make my living. I said oh. I gave him a medal, and he stood beside me there at the end of the track.

The next group of human tigers crouched at the starting line. The first batch were already cooked. I said FIRST ONE TO THE FINNISH WINS! and pointed at Mr. Eriksson. He said oh no they can't catch me, and took the medals out of my hand and started running. The gold flashed past my eyes, and my first reaction was to blow the whistle. The tigers leapt. They crossed the signpost, they saw Mr. Eriksson with their medals, they gave Mr. Eriksson chase. Out in the distance as a group of about twenty disappeared, I heard the Finnish national anthem sound:

Our land is poor, and so shall be
to him who gold will crave!
The strangers proudly pass, but we
shall ever love this land we see.

- Livi