By Steve Carr

According to my nephew, Taylor, fifth-grade girls still chase the boys at recess. “Do you let them catch you?” I asked.

“No way.”

Because I volunteer for the Red Cross, people ask me if climate change is “real” and which health insurance plan is best. Because Dad taught me to stand up straight, look people in the eye and have an opinion, I answer their questions, despite going to work in flip-flops during June snowstorms, all the while unaware if my health insurance plan covers frost bite. (Taylor, I’m guessing it doesn’t cover girl cooties.) Because I answer their questions with a knowing air, I’m occasionally asked why I don’t run for governor or Boise State’s football coach.

Running is hard work, I tell them.

The first time I ran for anything was fifth-grade recess when I ran for my life, chased by a pack of girls led by Vicky Skinner. What self-respecting boy wanted to be cornered by a pack of baying females? Did I get caught?

No way!