The first time I ran on all fours, I was in a parking garage in Bethesda, Maryland. I had just met a girl who said she could do it, but I hadn’t actually seen it yet. We were barely teenagers, and I was willing to believe anything.
It’s just like this, she said, her domesticated yip echoing around the concrete pillars. You just fall forward, and run. She put her backpack down and knelt to untie her Sketchers. And then she took off running, her red tongue lolling from her lupine jaws, her toenails skittering on the cement.
She returned, pedigreed and bipedal, and stood at my side. Now you try, she said. It won’t hurt. You just fall forward. And you run.