An eight metre sprint

 It was as if time stood still or at least slowed down to a trickle. Waiting in my car I saw the three octogenarians advancing towards me along the pavement. It was like watching the all too regular contest between those huge trucks on the motorway when one driver takes it into his head that he can overtake the truck in front and swings out into the middle lane. A slow gargantuan tussle begins as the overtaking vehicle slowly inches alongside and part of the motorway is blocked whilst this battle for first takes place.

Three old people none of them steady on their pins were advancing slowly, their walking sticks trembling in the sunlight like three Excalibur's waiting the chance to do battle.
Pedestrians coming the other way took one look at these two hombres and an even more determined woman and stepped out of their way. The distanced travelled was not all that great but the determination to be first was unequalled. Slowly the woman drew abreast, a glance to the side and the man in the middle put on a spurt, well he waved his stick in an effort to increase speed since this was becoming the equivalent of Bannister and the 4 minute mile. The two men were grimly intent, the woman grinning all over her face as she tried to accelerate and gage the gap to overtake. In slow motion it all took on an unreal air, the battle of the titans would seem appropriate. There was no reason to the contest, the distance gained was unimportant, like the truck drivers the gain was irrelevant nothing much more than the length of the truck but it was part of human nature to want to be first.
In what seemed like an age the trio drew level with my car and the contest drew to a close as Marie opened the passenger door and got into the car.