Faster!

My long-legged running partner and I decided that we would sprint the last stretch of our run yesterday morning. Actually, she decided this and I grunted my assent. I am not a sprinter, you see. I'm just not built for it. I really don't have much muscle mass, unless you count the muscle that has formed around my midsection; love handles are muscle, right?

They're not?

Oh.

Forget I said anything.

So as we approached our last quarter mile, I could feel our pace start to quicken. It felt good. I was conscious of my form. My arms were pumping back and forth to help my momentum. I was breathing heavily, but rhythmically. And then Amy started pulling just a couple inches ahead. I lengthened my stride to match her. Now we were really flying! I actually started laughing! I was so happy to be keeping up with her. I must be a great runner! I glanced over at her and smiled, sharing my euphoria at our incredible speed.

Then she smiled back. And said, "Should we go fast?"

But...

But...

And then she took off and left my sorry butt in the dust.