A Girl Runs

The location was Butterfield Elementary. The day was "National Every Kid In Here Shall Run A Mile Day." The girl was in 5th grade, the best she remembers. She knew that running a mile was a daunting task, but there was no way she could beg out of this one. She would have much rather taken a test on the technique of running, but the brutal physical education teacher would have none of it.

So, the girl runs. She runs and runs around the concrete lap until she can run no longer. She can't remember if the hyperventilating started before she completes the mile or not. Being the competitive type, she is quite certain that she finished the task at hand. After all, every kid who ran a mile was to receive a medal and she wasn't about to be left out. Especially since taking a written test was now out of the question.

All she remembers is being escorted into the nurse's office by Mrs. May. Mrs. May was the school secretary. She wore three inch stiletto heels every single day. The principal's name was Mr. Day. This particular elementary wanted to keep things simple for the small folk. After all, rhyming and three letter last names were a sure way for kids to learn their phonics.

And all the sudden, out popped a brown paper bag. The girl couldn't breathe. How on earth was a brown paper bag supposed to fix her predicament? But, being the sweet and obedient little girl that she was, she followed the nurse's instructions until slowly but surely, fresh air filled her lungs and she stopped gasping and panting and sucking air like a dog on hot concrete.

Perhaps she was forever scarred by the effects of physical exertion that day, but she decided that God gave her lungs for the purpose of singing and not running. So sing she did. Run, she did not.

Fast forward a few years. Perhaps a couple of decades, even. The girl suddenly realizes that her thighs will be the size and dimply shape of the Rocky Mountains if she doesn't do something. No amount of singing could get her out of this bind. Her metabolism was slowing down. And fast. She must run. She knew it in the depths of her being. She simply must run. The trick was going to be how to proceed in such a manner as to not have to whip out the brown paper sack once again.

The girl could walk all day, but running presented a new challenge. Burning leg muscles that have been subjected to the abuse of atrophy screamed every time she got the mph above 4.0. The lungs cried out even harder, "We were made for singing, not running!" But, the girl pressed forward. Forever, she was stuck at 1 minute. She simply couldn't get past running longer that 1 minute stints.

But, then the breakthrough happened. Spitting mad at a surgery bill that was $2000 more than was expected, she ran. And didn't stop. For 8 whole minutes. She found out later that day that the surgery center made an error and she was able to celebrate all over again.

And, today, she ran again. She was so excited about beating her lungs into submission that she ran 12 whole minutes without stopping today.

The girl ran!

And she didn't even require a brown paper sack.

{The End}

Or is it the beginning?