I used to be able to run — I know, you would never know it to look at me now but it’s true. It’s the first thing I considered myself to ever be talented or competent doing. It’s just an unfortunate statement on my self-esteem I didn’t find that out until fifth grade.

My obsession with running, sprinting to be specific, came with its own set of difficulties for me. While I enjoyed runs as far as 13 and 14 miles at a time, I specialized in short sprints; punishing my toes and causing painful shin splints.

I would spend so much time at the track in fact, that I became an utter mess while attempting to walk. Mostly, I would toddle around on my toes like I was still in my sprinting spikes — all the while, looking around nervously knowing I wasn’t pulling off my walk with any semblance of normal. I was truly an awkward sight.

It’s alright though. I was fast, I knew it and it brought me a modicum of pseudo-fame seeing my name in the local sports pages.

I even had my picture grace the sports page once — the final stretch of the 200 meter dash. Every muscle in my legs was in a frozen spasm and my face was contorted with pain as I tore down the final 20 meters.

In school the day after the photo ran, Brunswick High School gym teacher Ms. Leighton met me in the hallway with, “I saw you in the paper — nice legs.”

I wasn’t sure how to take the compliment but at that age, they were few and far between, so I just smiled goofily back at her, nearly completed the response, “Yeah, you too,” and lurched my way down the hall on my toes.

Being so weird and awkward and having this one, one thing that was my thing also led to a certain degree of overconfidence in the subject matter. One day, I was with a few friends in front of the Shop and Save where I caught a glimpse of Olympic marathon medalist Joan Benoit Samuelson.

Playing it cool, I casually remarked, “Hey, there’s Joan Benoit.” My friends immediately sniffed out my obvious bluff. I made allusions that I indeed knew, or at least ran into her before — both lies. They pressed on and stood my ground before they threw down the gauntlet.

“Yeah, like you know Joan Benoit,” the said, laughing and pushing at me and daring me to go strike up a conversation with her, “since I know her so well.” I was in a spot now and had to make good on my bogus claims.

Walking up to her, I didn’t hesitate for a goofy, lurching mess of a high school liar. I greeted her with all the confidence I could muster and to my absolute astonishment, she greeted me by name! That was when my own facade collapsed on me and I could feel the blood of embarrassment rushing into my cheeks.

It was like she could hear my entire BS argument and played into it to save what was left of my dignity which was now teetering on the edge of a cliff.

She was gracious enough to say how she’d seen my name in the paper and congratulated me on recent track meet standings. I walked away with my head high and gloated to my friends. My hoax was intact and they were amazed at my one moment of greatness.

I never ran into her again. I wanted to ask her if she heard the argument with my friends or if I were so lame, maybe I was wearing my high school jacket with my name on it… I really never knew.

Decades later, I can still jump on a treadmill and belt out a couple miles if I really want to but man — I used to run.

Douglas McIntire is a writer and educator in the Midcoast and can be found more often at Five Guys than the Planet Fitness where he still pays dues. He can be reached at [email protected].