HOW TO KNOW IF YOU'RE CHILD IS A CROSS-COUNTRY RUNNER:
People ask you, "They run three miles...at once?"
Dogs that chase them have to work hard to keep up.
You need a magnifying glass to see their name in the paper.
They have chafing in strange places.
All their socks are either stained or torn.
They can run farther in a week than their bus travels for meets.
You tell your child to run to the store because it takes too long to drive.
Your child can spit while running.
Your child asks to go to a golf course...to run.
They'd rather run to school than drive.
They use phrases like "10 mile" and "easy run" in the same breath.
They can eat their weight in pasta.
Their meals involve more than 3 servings.
They schedule their dates around meets.
You spend more on training clothes than school clothes.
Your Christmas list includes more than one pair of running shoes.
You feel lost without a water bottle in your hand.
Your Saturday mornings for the rest of your life are ruined.
You can see your child's ribs through their shirt.
Your child gets turned on when they see a hill coming.
Your child craves Power Bars.
Their favorite food group is carbohydrates.
Your child foams at the mouth.
Your child talks about the dream they had last night and they were running.
You can sharpen an axe blade on their calves.
They can maintain a 5:30 pace while throwing up.
Your son tries to impress girls by saying he's a fast finisher.
They consider school a break between runs.
They own spandex in more than one color.
"Chariots of Fire" is actually entertaining to you.
Your child's watch is more expensive than their car.
Your daughter's dress shoes have spikes.
They know as many names for pain as Eskimos know words for snow.
They never look behind them.
They don't know what an off-season means.
Your daughter can hit targets with her snot rocket.
Your child ran sub 5 on the PE mile.
They routinely race dogs down the street...and win.
They have 3% or less body fat.
They talk to their coach more than you.
They can say, "I love to run" in over 5 different languages.
Their off-season starts a week after State.
Your cookie jar is filled with bagels.
You often hear people screaming, "Run, Forrest, run!" at your child.
Your child has more races t-shirts than socks.
They'd rather take the stairs while visiting the Empire State Building.
They can pronounce Kenyan names
You take the elevator, they take the stairs...and they beat you.
Runner's World turns your son on more than Playboy
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