Having two kids has meant less exercise, and less time to think. I hatched a plan to kill both birds with one stone: running. I kept a tight rein on my gearhead shoulder-devil and purchased only what I absolutely needed: shoes.
When I got home from my first run, my thighs wanted me to type an internet-ism that I refuse to type out. I can put it in a speech bubble next to a drawing, though, because Google can’t read that, index it, and associate me with it. Yet. I think.
Afterthought: since regular runners keep wearing out old shoes, presumably bright white laces aren’t a sure giveaway of a non-runner pretending. Bike shorts with chamois may be more telling. Let’s just leave running ability right out of the discussion.