In junior high, in 8th grade, I had to participate in a fitness test. One of the requirements (I remember this clearly and with deep shame) was to run a mile. After twelve minutes and forty-seven second of running and walking a flat course, I finished last in my class. It was official: in the entire seventh grade, I was the slowest.
Today, during my morning workout, I finished two miles in nineteen minutes and forty-two seconds. So I was going slightly faster than a ten-minute mile. I ran the whole way. So it’s now official. My 37-year-old self is more fit and physically active than my 13-year-old self.
It also means than any improvement beyond this point is gravy. Rich, delicious gravy with lots of giblets and goodies, but gravy nonetheless.