If you wanted schoolyard acclaim at my middle school, you didn’t bother with how much you could bench, how many pullups you could do, or how far you could throw a football. And you certainly didn’t bother with running a marathon. The true path to lasting seventh grade athletic immortality ran a mile in length. If you could break six minutes, you were fast. Break five and a half? You were elite. Once a week during PE, we’d line up on the track to test our mettle. Coach’d say go, click his stopwatch, and we were off chasing glory. You’d run and you’d run until you got to that final leg where you’d kick without even knowing it and propel your body past your rival to beat him and your own time. The mile was special.