Cutting The Corner Mile

If there was one thing I was good at avoiding, it was running the mile in middle school. I can almost feel the sense of pride as I “clocked in” another 7:02 mile.

“Kari,” the PE Coach said, “we cannot help but notice that your times keep improving.”

“I’ve really just been drinking water, training a bit with my Dad, you know…the usual.”

“We just cannot wait to honor you at the next ceremony.”

Unfortunately, that coach had to “retire,” and the new one was not having it.

“Kari, I noticed that you were standing by the tree at the corner turn over there, and I also noticed you cutting several other corners along the path.”

Great, I thought, I’m going to middle school detention. What would that entail, I wondered? Would I be forced to wear orange? Orange does NOT look good on redheads.

The next week was “fitness test time” again. I’d rather fake my way through some pull ups or sprints for this fitness test. Also, the “coach” that was managing our fitness test needed to be tested himself, in my opinion.

I confessed that it was “that time of the month” for me, and that I was not comfortable running in this condition.

He immediately sent me to a counselor. I was intrigued by this because I didn’t really need counseling, I just wanted to sit in the cool gym and not have to run.

Over the course of the next few fitness tests, I declared the same for all of them. It seemed like the only viable option to get out of running a mile in this high temp weather.

“Kari,” one of our teachers said, “Can you come to my office?”

Off I went.

“We are a little concerned for your overall well being. It seems as though you are having extensive periods, and we would like to call your parents and have them set up an appointment with an OB GYN.”

I immediately turned bright red and realized I was totally busted. I hadn’t even started my period yet, much less had a situation where I needed to see a physician about it.

“Thank you for your concern, I have already discussed it with my Mom and we have an appointment set up.”

The next month, I miraculously was cured. I declared to the concerned staff that it was a simple fix, and that with some vitamins and supplements I had gotten onto a more regular schedule.

When I clocked in my 12:04 mile, one of the women coaches looked at me with a knowing smile.

I nodded, and we solidified what I hoped I would not get in trouble for, which is totally making up a story to get out of something I didn’t want to do.

It was the ultimate only child move. And I was only 12.