As a child I loved to race my dad. He would collect me from Brownies and we would always run the short distance home. Dad would give me a head start, then shout when he began to race. I would always run as fast as I possibly could, but would eventually hear the booming footsteps of my dad behind me. Dad would normally win the race at the last minute. On the rare occasion that I won (he probably felt sorry for me and let me win) I would be so happy that id achieved something so great to beat my dad, the fastest person I knew and the most fun person to race.