Sack races (open)

[Hart Kenney]

Perhaps funnel cake immediately before participating in the sack race hadn't been the best of ideas.

This was Hart's thought as he hopped awkwardly across the grass, hands gripping the sides of the burlap sack he was occupying. He was glad he had chosen to wear a tank top, as he could feel the sweat rolling down his back and his legs. Anything longer sleeved or thicker would have been miserable in this humidity.

As it was he planned on hitting the closest lemonade stand as soon as he crossed the finish line, which seemed so much farther away than it had when he had only been thinking about approaching it as opposed to actually trying to make his way there while stuck in a sack...

[Zebadiah Hayes]

Zeb hadn't eaten too much funnel cake yet, but he had consumed his (and perhaps two other people's) fair share of snow cones. But he figured since they were basically water, there was no harm done.

He hadn't been planning on joining in the sack race, figuring it was only designed for the kids. But after seeing a few other adults join in, he figured why not. After all, he decided it would help the adults to not look so out of place. Although anyone hopping around in a huge sack was bound to look a little odd.

He hadn't remembered this being so hard when he was younger. He felt it was hard enough to bunny hop such a distance, but keeping his sack from collecting around his ankles was proving difficult. He bump into one of the other racers when he lost his balance for a moment.

"Sorry there sir," he said, glancing over to make sure he hadn't knocked him to the ground.

[Hart Kenney]

Evidently Hart's attention was too focused on the finish line and not enough on the other participants, as he found himself stumbling, face planting in the grass.

He laboriously pushed himself back to his feet, one had still tugging the sack around his waist as if it ought to stay attached even in the face of such embarrassing accidents. His face was now stained green and brown, a fact he couldn't see but could definitely feel.

"It's fine," he assured the younger man. He looked familiar, but Hart couldn't place him. Not someone who had been taken into the police station while he worked there. Not a friend of Josef's.

But it was inevitable, meeting people one had seen before, especially at a town event in a tiny place like Pilot Ridge.

He attempted to dust himself off, forgetting momentarily that this required the use of at least one hand, and the sack fell about his feet.

The other racers parted around the two men, not at all willing to stop when they could be winning.

Hart's competitive streak kicked in, and he tugged the sack up again. "Fall or not, I'm still going to beat you," he called out, awkwardly resuming his hopping.

[Zebadiah Hayes]

Zeb was glad when the other man made it to his feet, although his grimaced inside at the green and brown smudges left on his face. Who knew sack races were such a contact sport? He was pretty sure he knew the other man somehow, but before his brain could make the connection, his competitor was tugging at his sack and heading towards the finish line.

Zeb had to laugh at the challenge. "Eat my burlap dust,' he said, hopping along after him. There was no way either of them were going to place first among the other racers, but as they approached the finished line they were pretty much neck and neck. Zeb made a final leaping jump across the line, collapsing again as he did. But at least not taking anyone down with him this time.

"Who won?" he asked, grinning as he tried to untangle his feet from his sack.

[Hart Kenney]

Hart hopped determinedly toward the finish line, eager to prove that he was capable of beating at least one person. The rest of the participants were already doffing their burlap sacks, leaving him and the man who had knocked him over as his sole competitor.

The end of the race came into view, and his hopping increases in intensity, beads of sweat rolling down his face. And then...then the other man made a less than elegant leap, beating him by a hair.

At the question Hart smiled ruefully, stepping carefully out of his sack.

"Looks like I'm last." He remarked as he drew one hand across his forehead. "What a lousy track coach this makes me, I hope none of my students saw that. So, typically loser treats winner. Since there's no alcohol maybe lemonade?"

[Zebadiah Hayes]

Zeb smiled back, brushing himself off and finally managing to struggle to his feet.

Up until the other man mentioned his "students" Zeb didn't realize he recognized him. Although Zeb didn't know all of the Hammel faculty all that well, he knew them all by name at least. "Mr. Kenney?" he asked, although he was pretty sure he had the name right. He hadn't really been paying close attention to the other man's face during the race but now that he got a good look at him he was sure he knew him. But he wanted to make sure of what he was really seeing also.

Winning in a sack race against a Hammel teacher was too close to something his tired brain might dream up for him.

"Lemonade sounds great," Zeb added. "Although I wasn't exactly the winner either."