For mind-numbing activities, it’s tough to top five hours of watching kids run. We can wrap wet towels around the heads of suspected terrorists and only a few Amnesty International types complain. But if you were to show a live broadcast of a five-hour track meet for kids to the captive audience at Guantanamo, you can bet a few generals would be busted down to corporals, or whatever it is generals are busted down to.

It is a cold blustery night at Higley High School in Gilbert. Very unusual for April in Arizona, so plenty of people (that’d be parents) are shivering in shorts and T-shirts.

I entered Bryson in just three events – softball throw, the 100-meter dash and the 4x100 relay. That last event is really why Bryson wanted to be here tonight, to run with his friends. Maybe they weren’t the fastest kids at the meet, or the second or third and probably fourth or fifth fastest, but competitive against the sixth and seventh fastest, that is if they got a good start and a couple of runners fell down, but it wasn’t about winning. It was about subjecting parents to five agonizing hours watching kids 9-14 (mostly 9) run.

Organizers of the Hershey Track and Field Meet for Kids Who Would Never Otherwise be Considered Talented Enough to Run in a Real Meet Where the Starter Even Has a Pistol told us to be at the high school by 5 p.m. to register. And so we were, with Bryson and his running mates Cody, Luke and Roy. Roy was the anchor because Roy was the fastest kid on the block, and the block was all these kids knew. If you could run faster than every kid on the block, then damn, you had Olympic potential.

After checking in, the parents go over the schedule. It starts with the youngest children running the shortest distance – 50 meters. Then, after all the youngest kids sprint, there is the 1600-meter run. OK, best times in the world are three minutes and something. Joe Weekend Runner can probably make it in about 7 minutes. But a kid? That’s like a marathon. And everyone has to wait for the slowest kid. It was dawning on me – this was going to be a long long night.

About a dozen races later, Bryson would be in the 100. I continue to look down the list. 200 meters. 800 meters. 400 meters. Five heats here, three heats there, six heats down there.

Last event – the 4x100 relay.

Jeee-sus.

The races begin. Kids line up. The younger ones, the cutest ones, who look so damn adorable waiting on the start line, get their instructions from one of the officials. She explains to them the meaning of on your mark, get set and go. She points the way they should go, in case someone is confused. She has them toe the mark. The starter raises his pistol. The girls run, but there is no shot. The gun misfires (this would happen more often than not). The girls line up again. One of them starts too early. They line up again. The gun sounds. They’re off! About 45 seconds later, the last one crosses the finish line. The next group lines up …

After three races, these kids aren’t adorable. They are pains in the ass who should know what the hell “On your mark, get set, go” means, and they should not take nearly a minute to cover 50 damn meters.

The night goes on. Races get longer (and the 1600 is as much a speed bump as I predicted, the last-place finisher walking half of it, yet everyone waits patiently because we sure as hell wouldn’t want to dent her self-esteem, and when she crosses the line in 18 minutes, yes, 18 minutes, we all applaud politely even though we really want to flip her off and bitch-slap her parents) and the sun goes down and the temperature drops faster than interest in our kids’ track fortunes.

About halfway through, Bryson, Roy and Cody line up in their 100-meter heat. In watching many of the races before them, I see there are a lot of blocks that have very fast kids, and maybe our block isn’t among the fastest. Roy, our anchor, takes fourth. Bryson is fifth. Cody, well, he tries really hard, but his running style in which he moves his legs in a spiral motion – you’d think his knees were made of Jello – doesn’t lend itself to victory.

Later, the top three fastest 100 times are announced, and the winners ascend a makeshift stairstep platform where first place occupies the highest spot, and so forth.

“We’d like to direct your attention to the medals platform to award winners in the Boys 100 Meters Group 3 race,” says the lone guy in the press box, voice booming over the PA system.

Yeah, whatever, nice job, more applause from the few hundred fans (parents) trying to keep warm in the stands. The kids with the blue and red ribbons (“medals” platform my ass) hold up the letters inviting them to the next step in this amateur competition, the district meet where each city’s best will compete for a spot in the state meet.

We were now in the third hour and not halfway done. The boys took their practice baton to a grassy area on the other side of the track to practice the handoff. As more kids finish, the crowd dwindles.

Finally, at a few minutes to 10, the call comes over the PA system – “First call for Girls Group 2, Boys Group 3 and Boys Group 4 4-by-100-meter relay. Bryson, Cody, Luke and Roy sprint to the holding area and, in retrospect, had they exhibited that kind of speed in the race, they might have had a shot.

They march the entrants onto the track, but we see only five teams, one of them comprised of 9- or 10-year-old girls. One of the boys teams was clearly older Bryson and the rest, while another clearly was younger. The last looked just right.

“Looks like they’re going to run them all at the same time,” I say, and the parents within earshot nod as if to say, “God, I hope so.”

There are only a handful of fans (parents, siblings) remaining. We can see bats flitting about in the stadium lights. They outnumber us.

The runners take their marks and, sure enough, everyone is racing at the same time. The gun sounds and Cody, our leadoff, backs up since he started to run about a second before everyone else. By the time he takes off in the right direction, he’s far behind everyone else save for the girls. Because they are little girls.

Cody slows as he approaches Bryson and Bryson kind of stands there. They make the handoff like shaking hands in the middle of the street, and Bryson runs his leg, the team still ahead of the girls.

Roy makes a valiant attempt on the last leg, but he finishes a few meters behind the third-place finishers, the kids who look to be younger. Then the girls finish at some point, but I’ve lost all interest in this point.

All I can think is, “It’s finally over, let’s go.”

But no, each team walks slowly to the medals platform. The remains of the crowd gathers at the fence right in front of the stand, cheering the competitors.

“We’d like to direct your attention to the medals platform…”

Thank you for the heads-up, Pressbox Guy.

The girls hop to the top step to accept the blue ribbon in their age group and gender. Hurray little girls.

Next are the oldest boys, who are given the blue ribbon for their age group (and they actually finished first).

The other three teams then take their spots. Bryson, Luke, Cody and Roy stand proudly on the third-place spot, holding their third-place white ribbons.

“Well, the good thing is that at least they didn’t qualify for district,” I say. The parents of Luke and Roy agree. Cody’s parents chose to stay home, not a bad decision at this point (even though I couldn’t imagine not seeing this anyway, five hours or not).

But there is some discussion at the medals platform. The second-place team is returning its ribbons to an official and vacating the platform. Bryson’s team steps up to the empty spot, trading their white ribbons for red. Seems the other team won first place for their (younger) division, meaning Bryson’s team took second. Out of two teams.

“Yeah, we’re going to districts, baby!” Bryson screams as jumps off the platform, holding up his invitation letter. “Districts! That’s like the finals! We’re going all the way!”

Districts. We’re going to districts.

Hurray.