“Ladies and Gentleman, it’s time to form our lines. Athletes to the left. Bookish people to the right. Aught! No, no, no. I see you trying to sneak over. Bookish people to the right. No intermingling.”

Those are the rules, and anyone whose ever been through junior high gym class knows it. I was on the right. The far right. In fact, I was so far to the right I wasn’t even in the same room. I hated P.E. Hated it. I couldn’t bat, pitch, catch, dribble, spike, dunk or any other verb. I considered dodge ball a personal enemy – what kind of sadistic bastard come up with this game, I ask you?

So the very second I could stop participating, I did. Fulfilled my credits and put the whole nasty business behind me. One of the benefits of adulthood. I didn’t play extreme frisbee in college. I didn’t sign up for aerobics classes. I had finished with P.E., and I wasn’t going back. And everyone on the left could pretty much take their dodge balls and shove ’em where...well, you know.

And that worked for me for a good number of years. Then my early twenties became my mid-twenties, and it turns out there’s something called “metabolism” that – apparently – doesn’t work so great forever. So I grudgingly shoved myself into the exact same pair of gym shorts I’d worn in my dodge ball days, and hoisted my butt up on the stationary bike and the elliptical machine until my jeans fit again. It took so dang long for them to fit again, in fact, that the gym thing became a habit.

And then one day, just an ordinary day, I kept pushing the “faster” button on the treadmill until a walk turned into a jog turned into a run. Less than a week later, I’d signed up for a 5K. Competitive mid-distance running.

Apparently the left-ies were keeping secrets. No one told me it could feel like that. No one. Not one coach, not one gym teacher. And I had a lot of them. Sure, I’d heard about the runner’s high. And yeah, there’s such a thing. But that’s not the best part. The best part is the feeling of physical mastery, to watch yourself go farther and faster than you’d ever, ever believed was possible. The self-esteem boost is incredible. I feel strong. I feel strong in a way I never have before. A feeling I didn’t know was even missing. My legs go faster, my thighs are stronger, my abs...well, hell, just having abs is something.

And I still didn’t have to bat, pitch, catch, dribble, spike or dunk...which I still can’t do. But I can run. Even the bookish people, the far right-ies, can run.

There have been bumps, of course. I’m sitting here having just swallowed 800 mg of ibuprofen while roasting my knee under a heating pad. Yeah, it hurts. (And yes, Mom, I have a doctor’s appointment.) But there’s no pain greater than the rush of running just a little bit farther and just a little bit faster each time. So I’ll be back in training tomorrow, and I’ll cross that 5K finish line if I have to do it on my hands and knees. And in the meantime, I’m going after those damn gym teachers who were keeping this secret.