I was jogging along at the school track last night, 11th lap, when a young stud zipped by me, making me long for the days when I could have given him a run for his money. He stopped to rest after his first lap, I eventually chugged by him, but on the backstretch there he was again passing me. This time, he spoke:
HIM: "How many laps are you doing?"
ME: "Twelve. This is my last one."
HIM: "Wow! That's great!"
ME: "I'm slow, but it's not bad for someone who's 60."
HIM: "Well, you've had lots of years to build up your stamina," he said, leaving me behind.
I don't think that last remark was meant as a compliment, but last night's jog DID reinforce the old adage: time has a way of sneaking up on us. (P.S. I hope that kid pulled a hamstring and won't be out at the track tonight.)
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