I was talking to a friend who is training for a half marathon. He said he ran 11 miles the other day.
That got me thinking. I can safely say I have never walked, run, rollerskated or biked 11 miles at one time in my life.
It got me all fired up to start doing something about it ... until I remembered how much I hate running.
My four older brothers were all track stars in high school. Some even set records. They all did it because my oldest brother did it. And then came the black sheep of the family. Yep, me. And I'm allergic to running.
So, I was standing next to my locker in 9th Grade, and the track coach came up to me. "Hey," he said. "You're a *Insert my last name here*, right?"
"Yep," I replied. (Feeling a little self conscious, because I knew who this guy was and I didn't want to have anything to do with him.)
"So, do you think you're going to try out for the track team?"
(Uncomfortably long pause as I tried desperately to figure out how to let him down easily.)
"Um, nope." (As you can see, I failed miserably.)
(Another uncomfortably long pause, as I tried to figure out how to end the conversation.)
(I failed again.)
So, I just walked away, leaving him dumbfounded that a guy like me with gangly giraffe legs wouldn't be interested in putting them to good use.