Tiny Geniuses

Faith: There aren't 24 hours in a day.

Me: Really?

Faith: Yeah. There are, like, thousands.

Me: Really? How do you know?

Faith: Because when you are waiting for something or when I get bored, the clock goes really slow. Like - tick [dramatic pause] tock. tick. tock. And its so slow and thats why there are thousands!

Me: Wow. Genius.

*****************

Faith: [with hoody on head, laughing] I'm a dementor! I'm here to take away all your happiness!

Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

I wouldn't claim to be a runner. Rather, I claim it now, but only very quietly to certain people. To a large contingent of those who know me, I was the girl that read at recess; the one who would go to great lengths to avoid the infamous "running the mile" day in P.E. I think I actually got a "B" in P.E. once.

When I recently told a friend that I was training for a half-marathon, he actually laughed out loud. Not in a funny, LOL-type way as we were talking online, but an actual hearty face-to-face laugh. I get it - if you had told me ten years ago that I'd be training for a half-marathon, I would have laughed too. Even louder.

Yeah, I still run funny (to the boy who made quacking noises at me during PE in 8th grade: heard you were in rehab - hope things are looking up) but who cares? I'm not the fastest, or the best, but that is what is great about growing up - no one keeps score anymore. There is infinitely less judging - at least not the overt, pass the note in class kind of judging.

The best part of all is the secret language of runners: the head nod or smile as we pass each other in the streets. It keeps me going. Cheesy, yet satisfying. And if they are running with a cute small dog wearing a sweater that I secretly wish I could ran by and steal, all the better.