identity crisis

Do you ever look around at your siblings and wonder if you were secretly adopted?

Good thing that my mom has pictures of me and my twin brother from day 1 at the hospital.

Of course, there is always the option that my mom was told that she was carrying twins and then when the big d-day arrived only one came forth. To cover up his mistake, the Dr. quickly grabbed the closest baby and threw her (me) into the incubator along with my mom's one lonely baby boy.

I mean, aren't twins supposed to look alike?  What does fair skin, blond hair, blue eyes and a lean build have in common with dark hair, ruddy complexion and a roly-poly physique? He, running his mouth all the time??? And I, stubborn and often silent? He, the class clown? And I, the one who would rather melt into the woodwork?

And you see, my cause for concern has had reason to grow with the passing years, especially as one after the other of my siblings have taken up the art of running. They run for fun. To unwind.  "It's so relaxing," so they claim.



My brothers run marathons. My sister likes to run too. I have aunts who are well over the proverbial hill who run marathons and break records. I have cousins who live to run and run to live. My dad loved to run in his youth and he has been talking about training to run in a marathon to celebrate his 60th birthday.



Shannon, my twin brother (the one I resemble the most in looks and actions)



My aunt Lisa and her daughter Melissa

Lisa and her two daughters, Tara and Melissa

My brother Kyle is training the next generation in this world of running. He was the first of my siblings to get into running. I remember how I almost cried with pride when he broke record after record in high school track and field.

Check out his hilariously moving video here.

My twin brother is on this photo. I can't find him, but he's there....all set to run in Poland. He's the smart, good looking one with his mouth wide open.

As you can see, I'm proud of my family of runners, even though it causes somewhat of an identity crisis for me.

Me?? Well. I ran in high school because I had to. I'm not quick to admit weakness or failure. Sheer determination, will power and pride got me through each and every obligatory 1 mile run at the beginning of P.E. class. However, I failed to find any pleasure in running. By the end of 1 mile, my heart would literally be pounding out of my chest, fire licking my lungs and coming out my throat and sweat was squirting out of every pore in my body. I'm pretty certain I  caught a glimpse of the pearly gates a time or two as my body slid towards the grave in the after math of the run.

I just don't like to run.

I'll walk and I'll walk fast, but please, don't make me run.

I use the excuse these days that I've been pregnant or nursing an infant over half my days in the last 10 years.

I'll carry and birth a baby, but....please....don't make me run.

See why I wonder sometimes if I actually have blood ties to these people that I've called 'my family' for nearly 32 years??

Good thing I have a robust voice and know how to use the art of exaggeration in any given conversation and that I always think I'm right. Otherwise, this slight identity crisis could morph into a full blown identity crash.

Just call me "Franklina"

p.s. I really love my family.

p.s.s. Maybe I can't run, but I think I take better pictures than they do.

p.s.s.s. I stole these pictures from their facebook accounts