The Race of my Life.

I am a runner and I run all terrains. As a novice, I began by running loops on high school tracks. My appetite for running grew into something insatiable and I threw myself into the sport, waking up at insane hours, drinking raw eggs, and even running in snow and ice. I was thrilled by each day’s challenge of topping my previous times. Eventually, my abilities plateaued and boredom set in so I threw my shoes into the woods.

One day I was visited at my home by a really famous runner. He was wearing all these gold medals and had about a hundred American flags draped all over his incredible runner’s physique. He asked if these were my shoes (he was holding them in his hands) and asked if I’d like to go for a run. We ran all across the fruited planes of our beautiful country. I saw majestic mountains and breathed in the nostalgia of my youth as we crossed beaches. In his infinite wisdom, he explained to me without even saying a word that my problem was lack of scenery. To enjoy the sport to the fullest, I was going to have to spice things up. So, I said farewell to the old high school track and started running on nature trails, through the city and into the mountains.

"Mothers covered their children's eyes while I huffed glue before running a 10k"

In time, even this became dull. I attempted new things, like running around in people’s gardens. Also, I would I run through stalks of corn at night, like they do in frightening movies. I pretended to be Rocky Balboa training for a fight using some sort of cockeyed non-traditional technique like hiding on a farm and waiting until some unsuspecting rabbit was just about to pierce a carrot with its treacherous teeth. Then I would take off as fast as I could in his direction. Sure, rabbits are faster than humans but my dedication toward training had rewarded me with skills beyond the abilities of any vermin. Seeking to level the playing field, I intentionally compromised my abilities by smoking pipes whilst running. Mothers covered their children’s eyes while I huffed glue before running a 10K. And, rather than reaching for a cup of thirst-quenching water, I would do keg stands during marathons. This too, became boring.

So I visited the famous runner’s house with my shoes to say, “You can have these back. I’m not even the least bit interested in what you have to say in spite of your precious accolades and accomplishments.” I had written this down in case I forgot it when he opened the door, because I always get nervous before I confront someone about what stupid idiot they are. When the door opened I was not greeted by an athlete of any sort, but by the grim reaper. I ran like hell.

The Race of my Life.