The hare wanted a re-match with the tortoise. 

“I feel like I wasn’t my best self,” said the hare.  “That’s back when I was online a lot.  Surfing Facebook, updating my Twitter.  I was really fragmented and frankly, hadn’t been training effectively–”

The tortoise yawned.

“Anyway,” said the hare, “I’ve since gone on a juice-fast and I’ve cleansed my colon and I gave up cable and have been on a retreat at the Kripalu yoga center out east—they gave me a mala made of obsedian, which is supposed to be grounding, and I’ve been saying my mantras, which I probably should not share with you because it’s mine, and I need to contain that energy in my aura…”

The tortoise was just finishing up eating a peach.  He’d been at it for three hours and it had been a long, satisfying journey.  He was sad to see it coming to an end.

“Let’s just race,” said the hare.  “It doesn’t even have to be a race.  It can be for fun.  And you know what, I’m not even going to run.  I’m just going to lope along next to you.  What do you think? Huh huh huh? Let’s do it let’s do it whaddya think, whaddya think?”

The hare sat and thumped his back foot.  The tortoise just looked at him.

“Listen, I bet you’re wondering about the finish line. If I just lope along next to you the whole time.  And you know what, it doesn’t even matter.  You can cross over it first.  Or we’ll both cross at the same time.  Or we’ll just refuse to cross the line.  We’ll end the race five meters short.  I just don’t want to go down in history as some ADD sort of idiot who can’t focus for more than 10 yards at a time.  What do you say?”

The tortoise sat still. He ran his thick tongue over his beak, searching for stray pieces of peach.

“So what do you say, huh?  Are you up for this?  Race race race.  Come on.  Let’s do it.  Race race race.  Do you want to race or what?”

“I’m already running,” said the tortoise.  And the hare’s eyes grew wide.