Story time

Gather 'round kiddies and I'll tell you a tale from my younger days.

Way back in the Spring of aught-twelve, I sort of fell off of the running wagon, if you know what I mean. Now, back in those days, if you wanted to get somewhere, you ran. You ran to the post office, you ran to the bank, you ran to the grocery store, you ran to the gas station. If you wanted to get some place you were going, you see, you ran. Now, when I say I fell off the running wagon, that's not to be taken literally, you understand, because a running wagon just doesn't make sense. No, I mean I stopped running for some reason. Some say it was the warm snap we had that winter. Some say I just couldn't take the diet of easily digestible proteins and roughage. Some think I just couldn't take it anymore. Whatever the case may be, I stopped running for a spell. Anyway, 'come late March and I was running out of stamps and gas. So, time came to hike up my breaches and beat feet.

Now, back in those days, you understand, I liked to go fast, and sometimes running just wasn't fast enough. So, every once in a while, when the wind was right and Uncle Sam was feeling generous (which wasn't very often, you understand), I'd go skiing. Whewwwwwwwwwie. Now boy, that's what I call fast. Sometimes, I'd ski so fast, I'd come right out of my socks and leave 'em up on the hillside. Then my feet would get cold, and I'd have to climb back up the hill, in the snow, backwards in my bare feet, just to get my socks again. Anyway, this particular March in mind, I had a break from schooling (and the wind was right), and I went out to Colorado to do me some skiing. Now, back in those days, a man of my stature had difficulty seeing on top of the refrigerator.... wait a minute, now. No, that doesn't have to do with this particular story. Don't you worry about the refrigerator. Now, where was I? .... Oh yes, Colorado. Well, while I was out there, I spent a couple days in the city of 'Mile High'. No, that's not right.... Mile High City; Denver, you see. So, while I was there, I figured, 'might as well go get me some stamps. So I took off arunning. I started with my right foot, because that right knee, you see, that's my best knee. And I kept arunning until I couldn't run anymore. Now, back in those days, you understand, running a mile above sea level could take the wind out of a man, so I got near on the end of the street and I couldn't run anymore. So, I had to improvise. I kept on a-walk-running for about 3 miles. You know something? I walk-ran around an entire lake and didn't see me one post office. So, the next day I did it again. Still no post office. So I figured I'd try in the mountains.

For four days, I skied out there in the mountains. 'lost my socks about eleven times. One time, I was going so fast, and the feller beside me was going pretty fast, and well I guess we just weren't paying attention, and our skis got all jimble-jamble and I took a digger. My right shoulder got banged up pretty good. (Not like my right knee, you understand. That's my good knee.) Anyway, my schooling break came to an end and I hadn't come by any stamps. For the life of me, I don't know what people out there do for mail. So, I came back down out of the mountains and made the long trip home.

When I got home (it was a Sunday, I think), I felt pretty good. Some say it was the warm weather they were havin back home. Someone said it was on account of me havin a higher "air-ith-row-sight count". I don't know about that. I don't remember pickin one up, but I know I didn't have one before I left. Whatever the case, I felt pretty good. I ran another 3 miles the next day, and then rested my weary legs for a day. Yesterday... I mean, that Wednesday, I woke up, eager to take my shiny new air-ith-row-sight count for a spin, so I took off arunning again. You know something? I ran for an hour and a half straight and felt pretty good about it. In fact, my left knee almost gave out before I got tired.  Not my right knee, you understand. That there's a good knee. Yessir, my left knee almost gave out, but my lungs never did. I'll never forget my run that day. That was a good run.

Anyway, I guess the moral is; don't fall off the running wagon or you'll run out of stamps. That's all I'm trying to say.