"Don't pick Erin, I think she gets out on purpose."

I was the one in gym class who got picked last. I was the slowest. The smallest. The one counting the minutes 'til the bell rang. Yes, I did get out on purpose in dodgeball. Then, I'd stand at the end of the line and let everyone in front of me, feigning a broken leg, dehydration, smallpox, etc. Those balls hurt. And I was sooo not breaking a sweat.

And you know what? I turned out OK. But then I went to the doctor this week. (I'm just fine, don't send cards, unless they're filled with $50s, which I'll use to buy cute clothes or something.) She suggested maaaaybe I should get some exercise. Uh, you mean like, running and stuff? Yeah. Apparently it's good for you or something.

Oh, boy. Suddenly, I'm back in gym class, hiding behind the water fountain to avoid getting picked. "Teams of 15? Oh, crap. I'd make 16. I'll sit this one out. No, no, let the kid with the broken arm play. I'll just be over here, reading or waiting for technology to catch up to me, waiting for blogging to be invented. It's going to be the new exercise."

(Photo: Toothpastefordinner.com)