Towards the end of last school year, after a rather long run, Blaisey said to me, “Daddy, you’re tootie.” I explained to her that sometimes when I run, my G.I. system gets to working and I get a touch of the gas. She said, “Oh,” and kept watching Ironman cartoons. A few weeks later on the way home from her ABC school, we stopped into the convenience store, and she said, “Why are we stopping here, Daddy?” I told her we were getting some gas. She said, “Are we going for a run?” No, little turtle, not this time.
Last night, Desi stayed right beside me for a twenty-five minute run. When I got done, I said to traci, “Why is it that I’m sweating like crazy, and Desi’s not even breathing hard?” She said, “I don’t know. What setting was the treadmill on?” But I couldn’t remember, so we just chalked it up as another mystery of the universe.
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