Useless running lessons or life altering experiences.

I remember as a kid, my grandpa would impress me simply by spitting.  He had this ability to be precise and focused with his spit.  

Me on the other hand would spray the world including my face.  I could never master the technique.  I considered myself a failure.  

Throughout life I would see others whom had mastered this art.  I had reserved myself as an individual whom the genome had preselected as an individual who simply could not produce an accurate focused mucus discharge from my mouth.  

As I began my journey into the running world, I would see these masters of the art with whom I would watch with disdain as they would eject formed mucus with little or no interruption in their stride.  

Me?  I was subjected to slow down to a stop nearly to allow the dribble to intertwine with gravity to my pity.  I knew others were judging me and taunting me in their heads.  "Amateur" they would decry in their minds as they observed my disheartening attempts to "spit."

I remember the day when "it" happened.  I was on a training run in my favorite greenbelt area just past the pedestrian underpass heading south.  I had zoned out and was feeling pretty good on my run. It was post my angry jogger phase, where running provided me with "distance" and "serenity."  

I felt the urge, and without thought had found the objectionable mucus within my mouth.  Without a pause in stride, out it went!  

OMG!  There was no spray!  No spittle back in my face.  But a nice tightly consistent ejection of the troubling mucus away from my body and out into the grass.  No animals or humans were harmed!  I had crossed the great divide!  

It was then I realized that I had been practicing for weeks to get to this point as I had become tired of breaking stride while out on my runs.  So I had pitiful after pitiful after less pitiful after more less pitiful attempts leading up to this moment.  

Who knew that running would be so useful to me.  To ascend my knowledge to a higher level.  To bring me to the ranks of the man that I looked up to, and still look up to.  

This was that moment that I no longer considered myself a jogger, but officially a runner.