"You'reso lucky," people shout at me as they run by gasping for breath and grabbingtheir sides in vain attempts to ease the shooting cramps from lack of oxygen.
I give them a grim smile from my position on the grass and call out wordsof encouragement I don't mean. Honestly, I'm jealous that it's them and not me,but I'm also struck by the truth of their words. I am extremely lucky, but notfor the reasons that they think.
The rest of the gym class finishes theirmile run and rushes to the water fountain, red-faced and weary. I get my crutchesand slowly rise to follow them inside. All they can see is a doctor's excuse notto participate in gym class. Pretty lucky.
What they don't know is thehistory behind the ever-present limp that they see as a small price to pay to bea spectator to their agony.
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