Last week, my desire to go for a morning run coincided with Dog’s, Husband’s, and Minor’s respective desires to pee, sleep, and be awake at the crack of dawn. So I hitched up the dog to the baby carriage and took one half of the household out to do a quick three miles.

I was the recipient of kind smiles and thumbs-up from the other runners in recognition of my accomplishment, and I felt like I deserved them. It is no mean feat to run so encumbered, not to mention serving drinks and snacks from my convenient rolling cart to my crabby companions like some kind of sweaty stewardess. My triumph was a bit marred by the knowledge, though, that I could never earn the gold medal in the Parental Multi-tasking Triathlon (running, dog walking, and child-minding). That spot is permanently reserved for my friend L., who runs with her dog AND her twins. Unlike the Chinese, though, I am content with the silver.

The next day, however, I went out with Dog alone and saw a man running with a triplet stroller. While I may be content with the silver, I’m not crazy about the bronze. I crossed the street to check it out and saw that only two of the three spots in the carriage were occupied. “You know, you don’t get points for that unless all three of them are in there,” I told him.

“The third one’s with her mother,” he said sheepishly.

My silver medal is safe for now, unless he gets a dog.