This mom's a member of the running club for scaredy-cats

At a gathering not too long ago, my good friend Terrie made a profound proclamation.

"I'm a runner," she said as though she was making a confession. "Not in the sense that you girls might think. I don't put on a pair of Nikes and sprint down the street in trendy attire. But truth is that when it comes to a dangerous situation, I head for the hills."

She then went on to explain that while spending time at a ranch with her husband, they encountered a wild horse. Not only did she take off at a dead sprint, but she plowed her beloved spouse over in the process and left him in the dust.

She then gave further examples of pushing past folks at the sound of a fire alarm, and because of her insatiable will to live, once left her son to fend off a villain at a haunted house all by his onesie.

"Well," I said in a self-righteous tone, "I'm just not like that. You see, I'm the oldest sister in my family, and take my role in the familial birth order seriously. Why, if a masked gunman were to walk through the door at this very moment, I'd push you girls to safety and then do my best to make the villain rue the day he saw the likes of me."

Not knowing any tae kwon do or anything of the sort, that might prove to be difficult, I suppose. Still, I said it and I believed it to be true.

And it went straight from my lips to God's ears.

For the very next day, I went on a nature walk with my good friend Justine. We talked about this, visited about that and at some point in the conversation I brought up the fact that Terrie is a runner.

"And you're not?" Justine inquired.

"Oh, shoot, no," I said and then chattered about my sisterly dedication, my willingness to do battle with adversaries and my naturally loving ways.

We then sauntered along, visiting about this and that. Just making general conversation as folks tend to do regarding investments, Christmas décor and whether or not President Obama should have bowed so deeply to Saudi King Abdullah.

I was just about to make a yet another colorful commentary regarding gardening clogs when Justine interrupted the conversation with an earth-shattering scream.

It was not just any type of scream, mind you. But it was one of those bloodcurdling ones meant to demand attention and evoke heart-felt terror in the hearts of all within earshot.

Did I turn to defend her, you might ask. Did I scan the horizon to locate the object of her fear and strategically place myself between her and the ominous predator?

Oh, heck no. Rather than take on my role as an older sister, rather than ward off the impending danger, I jumped no less than 3 feet in the air and darn near knocked poor Justine over in the process.

In a stride reminiscent of Forrest Gump as he ran from schoolyard bullies, I hit the ground running. Jumping over this and hurdling over that, I ran from Justine with a swiftness that would surely have left any would-be onlooker shocked that a woman of my age could move so fast.

For a full 100-plus yards I went before I finally stopped and turned to see if Justine had gotten away with her life as I had.

"What is it?" I called out from my area of safety.

"It's a snake!" she called. "A snake?" I inquired. "Yes, he's huge and he's right there!"

I suppose that a better woman would have raced back to her friend. Especially one who proclaimed to be an eldest daughter, a defender of loved ones, and protector of all those in need.

Instead of running back to my friend's aid, I looked at her and the snake's location and evaluated the situation. Then I quickly decided that at times such as this, it's every woman for herself and said, "Well, good luck with that!"

Turns out, I'm a runner. Perhaps Terrie and I should start a club.

We could even make me president.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.