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.

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