On Monday, Philip and Thomas decided to join Jnut and I on our weekly run. Jnut was pumped up because Philip said he’d run circles around us!–and she was determined not to let him beat her (though I readily conceded that yes, he could run circles around me). However, when we got to the track, Philip had been waylaid by people playing basketball. So we proceeded to run a lap by ourselves; then Thomas showed up and mocked us by running sideways and backwards around us. Halfway through our second lap, we saw someone running really fast while standing pretty straight.

“Is that Philip?”

“No, Philip’s wearing red shorts, not a red shirt. Plus he doesn’t run with his back so straight like that!”

As the runner caught up with us, he let out a yell. Startled we turned to look at him and then we yelled. It was Peter! He kept going though, at the same speed, while we slowed to walk our last lap. Inspired (maybe?), Thomas ran after him while Jnut and I trailed behind. As Peter lapped us again, I asked him how many laps he was going to run.

He said, “Until my lungs die!”

Now that, my friends, is dedication.

Of course, when I told this to Dan, he said that we should run again on Wednesday. I protested vehemently, but relented in the end and insisted that we only do two laps. I asked him to not run with me, as I would inevitably hold him back, but he ran the two laps with me, and then ran two more while I caught my breath. Needless to say, I was in a foul mood, especially when he tried to get me to run home too.

“What happened to the endorphins?” he joked.

“They don’t exist!” I yelled back.

Thomas says I should do more than 2, and even George was surprised when I told him I only run 2, but I can’t do more. That’s the point where my lungs die. Pathetic? Yes. Quite. Better than nothing? I’m not sure.