giving credit where it's due

Now there's a sight no one has seen for a few months: my feet in running shoes. While I have definitely been satisfying an unusually large appetite due to one of the many perquisites of living at home and therefore feeling a little on the "not-so-petite" side, I had not felt the need to offset the appearance of any unwanted fat rolls... until today, when I decided to run a 5K for the first time in all of my nearly-25 years. This change of heart can be due to only one individual: Flat Stanley (FS).

FS is the subject of a children's book that my first-grader cousin read in class earlier this year. In this book, the sequence of events is as follows:

1. Stanley is a student.
2. Stanley gets squashed by a chalkboard and is renamed Flat Stanley.
3. Stanley miraculously survives this horrific accident and discovers the glory of traveling via envelope.
4. Owing to his new and economical mode of transportation, Stanley goes on fantastic voyages across the globe.

After reading this highly traumatic yet inspiring tale, my cousin's class, like so many others across the country, decided to send their own Flat Stanley around the world. And thus FS was sent off to Mumbai, India; Michigan; Mississippi; Florida and finally Fort Worth, TX.

During our first few days together, we went to all the usual places - work, home and happy hour.

Finally, when we got some free time, we hit up the Stockyards...

... and did some shopping.

Unfortunately, the token longhorn steer that usually loiters outside the Fort Worth Stock Exchange was long gone by the time we made it down there, so we did the next best thing.


Still, I couldn't let FS leave Fort Worth without seeing the real deal. So yesterday afternoon, when my mom proposed that we both participate in a 5K this morning, despite the fact that I had not seriously exercised for at least 3 months and that saying "yes" would require me getting up at 6:00 AM on a Saturday morning, I decided to go for it. Why? Because this race, called Run the Ranch, would meander through the Circle T Ranch, owned by Ross Perot's son. And, just like any other self-respecting ranch, the Circle T had longhorns and cowboys. To deny FS such an opportunity would be a travesty.

Surprisingly, despite the extremely hilly course, I ran all but about 100 feet of the race. And, much to FS' delight, the Circle T made good on its promise to provide proof of its Texan roots.

So thanks, FS, for forcing me to get off my lazy ass and actually do something with my Saturday. I may feel like crap tomorrow, but, by George, at least I will be able to rest easy with the knowledge that I can show my guests a good time.