A day at the races.

High school girls (are these your girls from Gfifat, Anna?) who take their running seriously. Girls in my town could learn a thing or two from them.

Morocco's Ministry of Youth and Sports ~ under whose auspices I work at the dar chebab ~ has been organizing a series of races around the country, or at least in our neighborhood. Girls and boys, big and small (not to mention a few old men) ran distances from 1 to 8 kilometers today. The track was the highway that bisects our town ~ runners were bused out of town so they could run in to the applauding throng. Several neighboring towns were represented, and I was proud to see, at least in the younger set, as many girls as boys.

My only job was to show up and take some photos. I wasn't even the "official photographer" ~ my little Canon snapper can't hold a candle to the industrial vidcam hired by the ministry to record every detail. The equally industrial sound-system was thumpin', the MC was rappin', and the crowds were cheering everyone equally.

The runners ranged in age from 5 ...

... to a very fit, and deservedly proud, 70-year-old.

As usual, I was less interested in the actual event than in the people on the margins. So my camera wandered away from its official duties.

Waiting to spot the next group of runners in the distance.

The roadside was filled with onlookers.

Smain, possibly the sweetest of my little neighbor boys.

A group of men standing, sitting, watching, waiting ~ this is a photo that could be taken anytime, anyplace in Morocco.

The VIP tent.

Trophies for the winners.

Best part of the day was getting to play peek-a-boo with 3-year-old Zakaria.