It takes a special kind of idiot to go from point A to point B in a tank-top, short shorts, and gloves.
That’s right. In high school (the prep school half of it), I was on the cross-country team.
Why was I on said team, you might ask? (I’m so glad you might asked!)
On campus, of lush green grass & trees in the
bustling metropolis barely-more-than-a-post-office town of Byfield, I would be seen jogging to class, as a result of leaving to said class at the last responsible moment. It never occurred to me that this was an abnormal ambulatory mode until someone mentioned, on my way, in my way, to said class, that I should join said team.
One year, one of the perks of said team was the track jacket.
That year, one of the perks of said jacket was the last name stitched onto the right sleeve.
That year, one of the perks of said sleeve was that mine said, Continue reading