One of the activities was a rousing game of Capture the Flag. Now, when I was a kid, Capture the Flag involved a lot of strategizing and sneaking through the woods. This version involved a lot of running and throwing things, because we played it in a field with balls as the flags. I found the instructions confusing at first, because instructions always confuse me, and because I wasn't really listening. Until the Den Leader mentioned that due to the shortage of kids, all the parents would have to play, too.
This is where I mention that I haven't moved at a pace faster than a brisk walk in at least fifteen years. But because I am a good sport (really. stop laughing.) I threw myself into the game with gusto. Big mistake.
I sprinted towards the flag...ball?...flall?...blag?...um, Object of the Quest, and not two paces over the border an eight-year-old was hot on my heels, intent on tagging me and sending me to jail. Not to be undone by someone one sixth my age, I feinted to the right.
Or so I thought. I was running, and then I wasn't. The ground seemed to roll up on my left, and the top half of my body kept moving, while the bottom half of my body did something else entirely, and then my face became intimately acquainted with the turf.
The poor scout chasing me thought he had pushed me down, and stood there wide-eyed, screaming apologies in a rather alarming tone. I reassured him that I had just tripped on something (not mentioning it was my own two feet) and sprung back up (humor me here) to rejoin the game. I made it through the rest of the game by only running in one direction at a time, and only when absolutely necessary. I made it through the last two days by taking massive amounts of ibuprofen.
I think it will be another fifteen years before I try to run again.