When I was in seventh or eighth grade, I decided I needed to take it upon myself to become the designated Funny One in my group of friends. I was the Shy Kid all my life; I had just started middle school not that long ago and begun hanging out with a new friend group, and I felt like I needed to assert myself as the new, extroverted person I was. I used to be horribly disorganized and forgetful (I like to think I'm a little more put-together now) and I would play that side of myself up for attention. I would poke fun at myself, laughing about the many "dumb" or "weird" things I'd done and how "awkward" or "clueless" or fill-in-hurtful-adjective-here I was. My friends would be set into hysterics, telling me how hangouts wouldn't be the same without me and how hilarious I was. My fragile ego swelled.
When I tell people I'm a runner, I am accustomed to getting very bewildered reactions. They wrinkle their noses, groan, tell me I'm crazy. And then they ask me "Why??" "Why would you EVER want to do THAT? Running sounds horrible."