Buses are a way of life for anyone covering the Olympics. They take you where you want to go, for free, run on a schedule, usually are air-conditioned and can get you closer to the front door of wherever you need to go than taxis or some private party driving a car.

Thus, we think about buses. A lot.

When trying to figure out your day, you look at event starting times … and then you get out your handy bus schedule to see if it’s logistically possible to get from Point A to Point B to Points C, D and E in time to do what you need to do.

I always carry my bus schedule with me. All 144 pages of it.

Sure, you can cover X, Y and Z … IF you get on the right bus in time.

That leads to some rushing, for journalists trying to do too much or running a little late.

Thus, the concept of the Bus Sprint.

It would be limited to veteran reporters (at least 10 years, I’m thinking), and would be timed.

The start of the course would be the front door of the Main Press Center, and the finish line would be the front door of a particular bus.

Here in Beijing, the bus yard is catty-corner from the MPC and has a grid of 54 (!) buses, eight rows of seven.

When key departure times are coming up (generally at the top and bottom of the hour), the number of reporters stampeding toward the bus yard looks rather like the first mile of the New York Marathon. Including the old and fat guys who probably shouldn’t be doing this at all.

So, here are the competition categories:

Reporters with Computer Bag. The bag has to weigh at least 10 pounds because they almost always do.

Photographers with Telephoto Lens. Photogs carry more stuff than combat-zone infantry men. So have them compete in their vests, all pockets stuffed, and at least three camera bodies and one monster lens. Total weight, 50 pounds.

We could further refine this by gender (a women’s competition, that is) and by weight. For reporters under 200 pounds and those over.

This would be entertaining. It would. I’ve seen it, and it’s a hoot, all these zealous journos quick-stepping it to the bus in the far corner while their computer bag bangs on their leg, thinking of all the dire things that will happen if that bus leaves without them.

It would be great fun. As long as someone doesn’t drop dead from the exertion, of course.