The Boy (6yo) was in my bedroom watching the Olympics, making himself scarce while the rest of us cleaned up after dinner.He came down when he heard some discussion about ice cream sundaes.”Were you watching the Olympics?” I asked.”Yes.””What’s on? Are they showing that Michael Phelps race again?””No. It’s running. Women.””The marathon?””Yes! That’s it! The marathon.”Without saying a word, I shot off down the hall and raced up the stairs, with The Boy sprinting behind me, laughing at my unexpected response. I asked him, “Is it almost over?””I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. Yes, I think it might be.”I’ve been reading Runner’s World for some time now, so even though I don’t run marathons, I wanted to see the race or at least see who won.He and I flopped onto the bed and started watching. It wasn’t even 30 minutes into the race, so it turned out we had plenty of time. I could relax.”I’m rooting for Great Britain,” he said as we settled down next to each other.”Really?” I replied. “Why not the United States?””I don’t know. I’m just rooting for anybody from Great Britain. The girl in front is from Great Britain.””Well,” I said, “I’m going to root for the United States because, well, I just am.”We lay there, watching them run that marathon faster than I could sprint 200 meters at this time in my life. After a few minutes, The Boy said, “Actually, I’m rooting for any girl with a ponytail.””Oh?””Yep.”We watched for a minute or so in silence. Then he said, “Actually, I’m rooting for any girl with blonde hair and a ponytail.””Hm…interesting,” I said. As far as we could see from the screen, that still kept it to the Brits who were in the lead at that time. I was just relieved he didn’t say that he was rooting for the girls in the tiniest bikini bottoms, because as one of my daughters pointed out, “Wow. Those runners sure aren’t wearing very much.”We took a break from watching because, well, the marathon is a long race and we needed to make those sundaes. As the kids were pouring on chocolate sauce, I slipped back upstairs to check on the state of the race. A Romanian woman had broken away from the thick lead pack.I came downstairs and reported to The Boy, “Well, a woman from Romania has pulled away from that pack of runners. And guess what?””What?””She has blonde hair and a ponytail.”He looked up from his spoon and grinned. “Perfect!” he exclaimed.He slurped up the bottom of his sundae and then announced he was heading upstairs, “to see for myself,” he said.”You’d better,” I said. “I might have gotten it wrong.”After checking it out, he came halfway down the stairs. “It’s kind of reddish-blonde, but…close enough!”Then he ran back upstairs and enjoyed the steady swish of several ponytails, as those tough marathon runners pounded out 26 grueling miles on the streets of Beijing.