I just got a message from my high school track and cross country coach who I haven't spoken to since, uh, high school.
Huh. Maybe I look different because I'm not wearing my track warm-ups?
Or could it be that I'm almost two decades older?
Wait, I know. Is it because the once hopeful light in my eyes has been snuffed out by hard living?
A lot has happened in 16 years, coach. A LOT– like, the invention of Facebook, which apparently resurrects relationships with people you never thought you would be interacting with again since choosing a life of writing over sports but here we are.(cue the sound of cigarette smoke being exhaled angrily.)
You know, you've got a lot of nerve contacting me like this with your little good luck with 'whatever' you are doing. It's called blogging, Coach. It's what I do. You know as well as I do that bursitis in my knee stripped me of that state title in the 200 yard dash. Sorry I couldn't be your little Olympic hopeful. It was your dream, not mine!
I don't know if that's what I'm going to write back yet, so I'm gonna go take a few laps and think about it some more.