One Saturday morning I met with some other boys who were working on the personal fitness merit badge at Ray Weidner’s house. We did pull-ups, chin-ups, sit-ups, and push-ups.
Then came the real test. We had to run a mile. None of us were expecting to run a mile that day so we weren’t prepared. All of us, except for Ray, were in our street clothes. None of us wore running shorts or a T-shirt. Ray was a seasoned runner. I don’t know for how long he had been running, but I knew it was quite a while.
I had just recovered from strep throat a week before, so my mom was coming to pick me up from Ray’s house in about a half an hour. I asked Ray if there would be time. “Yes, more than enough time,” he said with a smile.
We started off easy at first, just around the neighborhood. Then Ray told us to pick it up as we moved onto a main road. He pulled forward and we had to keep up with him. After about a quarter of a mile, my lungs, legs, and heart were burning.
We got settled into a pace at about half a mile. My mouth was dry. It felt as if the front of my throat was stuck to the back of my throat. One of the older boys joked, “I am really dead. My legs are just twitching and making me move.” We all let out forced laughs along with groans.
My breathing was very hoarse sounding, and I felt like I was going to die right there, but I kept right up with everyone. I don’t remember the last little bit. I must have temporarily lapsed into unconsciousness. Finally we were back at Ray’s house. It was over. Probably the worst mile I had ever run, and would ever run, was over.
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