Race for the Zambian Title

Zambia’s inhabitants were gathered together for the biggest event of the year, the race for the Zambian Title, and the anticipation was exceedingly high. Young and old stood by, anxiously awaiting the day’s festivities that were about to begin.



“Xerostomia is not contagious!” cried Lars, one of the two participants of the day's competition, as he hopped towards the starting line.

“Well, if you had just brought your own water to the race, we wouldn’t be having this discussion now, would we?” Valerian was the young kit’s highly hypochondriacal and obsessive-compulsive trainer, who was not about to develop Lars’ tendency for a dry mouth before competition by sharing his drink.



Unmistakably frustrated, Valerian reluctantly offered his water to his young companion anyway.



“Thank you!” Lars cried without looking back as he took the water and sprinted off to find his place at the starting line.



Sidling up next to Lars just before the start of the race, was his one and only opponent - an odd-looking creature who bore his house upon his back from a race that no one present seemed to recognize.



“Runners: On your marks, get set, go!” roared the announcer, with a shake of his mane.



Quite puzzled, the audience watched as Lars tore down the track, while the competitor from out of town seemed to remain stagnant at the starting line.



“Perhaps he is just giving our champion a head start to make things more interesting,” people queried. “Or perhaps he didn’t hear the cue,” said others, “I don’t see any ears on that poor creature as it is.”


Nop, the shelled competitor that had been left at the starting line in a cloud of Lars’ dust, did have ears, and he had, in fact, heard the announcer. Much to his dismay, he also heard the comments from the bystanders, but continued towards the finish line -- or at least, away from the starting line -- with as much enthusiasm as he could muster despite his lack of speed and the comments from the crowd.


Lars glanced behind him quickly, noticing that his opponent was nowhere to be seen. 


“Keep going!” yelled George, one of the local zebras, to the slow-moving turtle. “Just think of how much faster he could run if he were not carrying his home upon his back!”

Immediately upon seeing the poor creature’s struggle, George had felt a connection with him, for George suffered from a gimp leg and felt that he understood what the strange creature was going through. 



Hobbling over to Nop, the crippled equid helped him out of the shell he was wearing and whispered encouragingly to the last-place participant, “Now run!” 



George barely knew what happened next, for Nop had stood upon his two hind legs and began to sprint faster than the zebra’s eyes could comprehend -- although George was known for his poor eyesight as well as his hobble. 



Feeling lighter than air without his heavy burden weighing him down, Nop began to run at speeds he never would have imagined himself reaching prior to this day. Each step closed the gap between him and his opponent and soon he was right on Lars’ fluffly white tail. 



Due to his apparent lead, Lars had confidently slowed to a brisk hop instead of a full out sprint and was startled to see an awkward-looking, but very fast creature, running alongside him. 



“Caught up with me, did you?” Lars said, as he began to pump his rabbit legs into a full-out sprint towards the finish line, still confident that his own abilities could win him the Title. But before he could claim the victory, Nop pulled just far enough ahead to end the race with a near photo finish and claim the Zambian Title for his own. 



And that, my friends, is the real story of how the tortoise beat the hare.