At that age， I'd take any excuse to make estimates and do minor arithmetic. I'd calculate our gas mileage -- figure out useless statistics on things like grocery spending. I'd been hearing an ad campaign about smoking. I can't remember the details， but basically the ad said， every puff of a cigarette takes some number of minutes off of your life: I think it might have been two minutes per puff. At any rate， I decided to do the math for my grandmother. I estimated the number of cigarettes per days， estimated the number of puffs per cigarette and so on. When I was satisfied that I'd come up with a reasonable number， I poked my head into the front of the car， tapped my grandmother on the shoulder， and proudly proclaimed， "At two minutes per puff， you've taken nine years off your life！"
That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run. So I ran to the end of the road, and when I got there, I thought maybe I'd run to the end of town. And when I got there, I thought maybe I'd just run across Greenbow County. Now, I figured since I'd run this far, maybe I'd just run across the great state of Alabama. And that's what I did. I ran clear across Alabama. No particular reason. I just kept on going. I ran clear to the ocean. And when I got there, I figured since I'd gone this far, might as well turn around, just keep on going. And when I got to another ocean, I figured since I'd gone this far... I might as well just turn back and keep right on going. When I got tired, I slept. When I got hungry, I ate. When I had to go... you know... I went.
