Last week, I had my yearly doctor's appointment. Ladies, you know what this means. You dread it for weeks up until it's time. Sigh.
And so, my nurse practitioner (I see no reason to wait for hours to see the doctor) is examining me. It's not quite time for the intimate examination but she's poking and prodding.
While this is going on she asks, "Do you run?"
I think she said that but was unsure. "What?" I said.
"Do you run?" she asks, more slowly this time.
Oh, crap!, I think. What's wrong? Is something wrong with my knees, my feet..... Oh, my gosh, I must be dying. How can she tell? If she can tell, something must be dreadfully wrong! Oh, my goodness! All this runs through my mind in the blink of an eye.
"No, not really," I said. "I mean, I run in place a lot. I do workout videos," I stammer, absolutely befuddled. "I can't run; it's too monotonous."
"Well, you look like a runner," she says.
At the time I was too distracted by what was coming up in the examination to really pay any heed to this comment. But, later, I was aghast.
Did someone just call me athletic? Or, quasi-athletic? Holy cow! I've never been referred to - plainly or veiled - as athletic! Never in all my years!
Wow. I guess my harder workouts are finally paying off. Woohoo!