A Farewell to the Reluctant Runner
I became a runner; and I can do hard things: even running the Mile
By Emmilie Whitlock, Standard Journal
I am not a runner. I have painful memories of running the Mile in elementary school. Our gym coach would pass out grimy, sweat-filled popsicle sticks for each lap completed around the field.
I needed five golden, illness-ridden sticks for my salvation. All under 12 minutes. And that’s what anxiety feels like as a child.
I still can feel the side aches that came from running right after lunch, hot lasagna and cold Tampico swishing around in my third grade stomach. Lap one. Meh. Lap two, dead. Lap three, four and five? All I remember is that at one point I almost blacked out. But I got those stupid death sticks.
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