The average human can run 11 miles per hour. That’s the average human; not the 28 MPH, steroid enhanced, Olympian models.
I can run 12 MPH.
This means in a fight or flight scenario - I’ll be the one fighting. Unless I’m being attacked by a land locked manatee. Then I’d probably make a break for it.
Allie can run 8 MPH. We know this because of the radar speed sign the police department has temporarily placed outside of our house. It’s a big, battery operated display on wheels that reminds drivers of their speed. Last night Allie and I wondered if it would clock our speed.
It did. It does.
Daylight Saving Time has ended so these days we’re forced to play outside in the cold and the dark, running full-tilt sprints down the middle of the road. Allie and I would wait for the cars to go by and as soon as their numbers would clear we’d start running toward the machine.
Later, around midnight, I woke myself up because I thought that my heart had stopped. I’m not sure if I was dreaming or if I had indigestion but I was fairly certain I died for a second or two. In my sleep-addled brain I blamed my imaginary coronary on all that sprinting down the middle of the road as fast as I could over and over again.
I’m going to face the radar speed sign again tonight. I’m a little sore, but I’m pretty sure I can improve my numbers. That said, just in case I wasn’t imagining my heart stopping last night, I wanted you know how and why I murdered myself.
Hopefully I’ll reach at least 15 MPH before they remove the sign . . . or I die.