The joie de vivre of Kori Carter.

Kori Carter competed in four events at the Baseline League track finals on Friday at Claremont High School. The 12th grade phenom ran a 13.78 in the 100 hurdles, 11.76 in the 100, 41.99 in the 300 hurdles, as well as the anchor leg of the 4x400 relay team that finished second in 3:57.46. Add it up, and that's a wind-aided five minutes and five seconds during which Carter looked nothing like a 17-year-old girl.

Between races, she came back to Earth.

After winning the 300-meter hurdle event going away - Carter could have phoned Stanford with her time before Etiwanda's Jordie Munford crossed the finish line 2.58 seconds later - she leaned over a cyclone fence to chat with some friends and hug another, which probably had nothing to do with winning a race. Carter then walked back across the track to the infield. Time for an interview.

I follow her to her duffel bag, from which she retrieves a bottle of water and starts squirting all over the place, trying unsuccessfully to hit her mouth.

"I'm the klutziest hurdler," Carter says.

"That's not a good event to be klutzy in, is it?"

"That's where everything makes sense. On the track," she says. "Everything off the track doesn't make sense."

Like drinking from a water bottle, apparently.

"Can you jog?" she asks. Suddenly I'm jogging across the Claremont football field with the fifth-fastest high school girl in the state of California. We reach the 30-yard line and stop.

"Wait, is Andy jumping?" she asks, rhetorically.

We jog a little further. Carter is trying to find Andy.

"Do you still have another event today?" I ask.

"Yes, the 4-by-4."

We agree to meet up after her final race, and I reach out to shake her hand.

"I'm a hugger," says Carter, now embracing this complete stranger. She runs off - maybe to find Andy - and I scribble something down in my notebook: Kori Carter does not break a sweat after running a race.

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After the 4-by-400 relay is complete, there is another false start before our interview can begin. Etiwanda and Los Osos appeared to finish 1-2 with Claremont third, but The Bears Grizzlies were disqualified for some reason.

"The Los Osos team just got DQ'd," Carter tells me. "I'm really sorry. I want to go calm them down."

I tell her to go on ahead then come back to the infield, but Carter doesn't trust herself. We have to "pinkie swear" (her idea, not mine) and she initiates an elaborate ritual in which we wrap pinkies, then touch thumbs, then release the pinkies and form a heart shape with our opposable digits.

This must be what sealed the deal for Stanford.

A few minutes later, Carter encounters a Los Osos sprinter on her way back to the infield. Amidst their friendly banter she tells him that the 100 is "too long and boring," and I have my first question.

"The 100 is the shortest race. How can it be long and boring?"

"OK, hurdles is like, 'Run-run-run, jump. Run-run-run, jump. Run-run-run, jump.' But the 100 is like run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run. ... I really think I have ADD."

"So do I."

The story that resulted from the rest of our interview can be read here.