Friday, August 18, 2006

Well, Can't Be Out Partyin ...

... so I might as well be in bloggin. Me, and about 18 million dorky high school kids.

Which reminds me. Anyone who has come with three or four yards of me lately knows that my high school reunion is coming up next month. Which made it all the more interesting to visit it a high school track yesterday. Don't judge -- I had a good reason to be there.

Work is a little slow these days (quick, find wood. Knock on it.), so I pretty much get to pretend I am a high level editor or an unpaid intern and come and go as I please. Thus, when I got two emails at roughly the same time -- one from my physical therapist cancelling our appointment and another announcing a speed training session that night -- I got thee to the track (actually, I got thee home to change and make a sandwich, but I was at the track within hours).

My physical therapist did not give me permission to do the speed drills, but she said I could run 3 to 4 miles at a normal pace. I was anxious to bust out my new runnin legs.

I have no prior track running experience, so I was anticipating some treadmill-grade boredom, but I was so wrong! The track was like a little ant hill of activity. Varying sizes of little boys were tottering around in huge football pads, track teams were doing drills, locals were were running and walking, the marching band was somewhere within earshot and the cheerleading squad was practicing. I learned a cheer:

F! F-I!
F-I-R-S-T and ten!
It's first! And ten! Yeah, it's first and ten!

Note: I don't want to be critical, because it was a fine cheer, and the young ladies performed it very well, but is that cheering? Should they not be somehow encouraging victory, rather than simply making observations about the yardage of the play? But I digress.

The whole thing was very entertaining. But it was also very weird to look at all those kids and think it's been more than ten years since I was in this funny little temporary civilization called high school.

I decided that 18-year-old Me would probably like 28-year-old Me. Young Me might be disappointed that I don't live in New York City in a revamped loft filled with controversial art, but she would overall be on board with the current state of affairs.

So far this week, I've run 6.5 miles. In seven hours, I will run five more. So I better go to bed. Happy Friday.


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