Once upon a time, I ran in track in high school. (Shut up and stop laughing.) My school was small and the track team was comprised of newbies. We were coached by a teacher who was just fulfilling his obligations to moderate and none of us had a clue how to “train.” At my first meet, which was city-wide, I was to run two races. I ran the first and tried to sprint the whole thing. I would have known NOT to do this if I had a real coach, I’m sure. Since I was slow AND poorly trained, I came in last and felt awful. When it was time to run the second race, I decided to just ease into it and finish and go home since I was so discouraged. Well, rounding the track I thought there was a chance I could beat the girl in front of me and NOT come in last. I lunged over the finish line to beat her and and BAM! tripped/rolled/fell right over the finish line. The stadium moaned a collective, “Ohhh….” as I got up bloody, embarrassed, and still dead last. It was AWESOME.