Baby, I was born (not) to run.
"Yo, Adrienne!"
(This weeks ”NO SUGAR ADDED” Column, in The Forecaster Newspapers)
I hate running.
My adversarial relationship with the sport began as a freshman in college. After a few too many Fritos, a friend suggested we form a running group. Before I knew what I was being sucked into – wham! – my alarm clock was rudely awakening me at 4:30 a.m. on a chilly autumn morning and I was propelling myself toward the iconic steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, just like Sylvester Stallone in “Rocky.”
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