A few years ago, I used to be really into running. I used to be the type who’d balk when a friend would inform a gathered circle of drinking acquaintances that I was “a runner.”
I’d reply, “I’m not; it’s just something I do.”
I’d flutter my hands at the wrists and kick my heel backwards and then say, “I shouldn’t even be able to run! I’m like a little bumble bee!”
