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Other than being an avid hiker — an activity I have pursued with relish for the last 40-odd years — I am not an athletic dude by any stretch.

As a kid, I tried my hand at the usual sports. I played Little League baseball for two years, mostly as a bench-warmer. Late in a game, the coaches might put me in right field, if we were far enough ahead.

Sprinkled among my walks and strike-outs were a few hits (including a double that I still remember fondly), but they were sheer accidents. I simply didn’t have the skills, or the inclination to develop them.

In my high school years, Dad was in the Air Force, stationed in Stuttgart, Germany. As I’ve indicated before on this blog, military bases overseas are miniature American towns, with no lack of facilities for the soldiers and their families, including organized sports.

So, even though we lived overseas, I had plenty of sports opportunities. I played football as a sophomore and basketball as a junior. But again, my talents were meager.

In football, if I took the field at all, I played offensive tackle. In high school, the interior line is a safe place to send your mediocre players.

In basketball, I was a forward. I had the necessary stamina to run around a lot, but the good players rarely gave me the ball.

Actually, I did have a hot hand in one memorable game. Somehow, I got a rebound and quickly scored. When it happened a second time, my teammates started feeding me the ball. And I delivered — 16 points in all.

It was most gratifying. But it never happened again.

Over the years, I tried a succession of other sports — softball, golf, tennis, volleyball (soccer wasn’t on anyone’s radar screen in those days). Nothing really lit my fire and was enjoyable enough to continue.

Then, after college, I discovered hiking. And backpacking and camping. And kayaking. With those activities — which, you will note, are for individuals, not teams — I was considerably happier and more comfortable. For me, they clicked.

Looking back, there may have been clues that I was never cut out for team sports — that if I excelled at anything, it would be the solo stuff.

I say that after having a flashback recently to an episode during my junior year of high school in which I showed a genuine and unexpected degree of athleticism.

But let me begin at the beginning.

I don’t know if high schools require Physical Education these days, but they did in my time. PE was daily and mandatory.

The PE teachers did their best to give the hour some variety. We might play basketball or flag football. We might run laps or do sprints. We might lift weights or line up for calisthenics by the count.

And once a year, as most Americans kids have done for decades, we participated in the President’s Physical Fitness Challenge.

Most adults probably aren’t even aware the program exists. It was instituted in 1956 by President Eisenhower to get America’s increasingly soft and indolent children off the couch.

Ike got the idea from Dr. Hans Kraus, a professor at New York University. In 1953, Kraus warned that the nation’s kids were losing muscle tone because of “the affluent lifestyle of 20th century America.”

And this, by the way, was decades before video games came along.

In response, Ike created the President’s Council on Youth Fitness, which developed a physical fitness test for school kids. In the beginning, the test consisted of a softball throw, a broad jump, a 50-yard dash, and a 600-yard walk/run.

Over time, the name of the council and the nature of the test have changed. Today, it’s called the President’s Challenge, and it requires school kids to do the following:

– One minute worth of curl-ups (modern variation of sit-ups)
– Sprinting between lines set 30 feet apart
– Running and/or walking 1/4-mile or 1/2-mile, depending on age
– As many pull-ups or push-ups as the kid can do
– A “sit and reach” test to measure the flexibility of the lower back

I don’t remember which events made up the President’s Challenge in 1958, only that it was a series of the usual exercises: running, push-ups, sit-ups, and so on. I recall it as being more tedious than strenuous.

PE at my high school was under the auspices of Coach Jack Larkin, a gruff, but decent guy in his 40s. Coach Larkin, bald and bespectacled, was from Kansas.

PE class on the day of the incident was during 4th period, just after lunch. The final event of the Fitness Challenge was to perform a timed series of sit-ups. We did them with a classmate sitting on our feet to keep us stationary.

As the class went about the exercises, Coach Larkin bellowed that time was short. After the sit-ups, we needed to hustle to the showers, because 5th Period classes would start soon.

In my case, 5th period meant geometry, which I loathed.

“Coach!” I yelled out from the supine position, “Bruce and I want to stay here and see how many sit-ups we can do without stopping! Will you get us excused from geometry?”

I was speaking for my friend Bruce Jones, who was stretched out next to me. I assumed Bruce would be agreeable if it meant missing geometry. He was.

“Yeah, Coach!” Bruce chimed in. “Let us try! How long can we keep doing this, anyway?”

“No! Don’t be ridiculous!” Coach Larkin snapped.

Bruce and I continued to plead with feeling. Finally, the coach relented.

“Okay, you can stay as long as you can keep doing sit-ups,” he said. “But when you have to quit, I want you out of here and off to class!”

He looked at the two guys who were sitting on our feet. “Can you two stay and keep count? Can you miss the next period?” Indeed, they could.

All around us, hands shot up from boys who wanted some of this action. The coach wouldn’t have it.

“Just these four!” he growled. “The rest of you, finish the set and hit the showers!”

Bruce and I grinned at each other and slowly continued doing sit-ups in unison.

After the gym was empty, Coach Larkin moved us to a small alcove near his office and handed each foot-sitter a mechanical counter. He told us to take a break, then start a new count.

We got up, walked around, got a drink of water, and got back in position. When the tardy bell rang, we commenced to doing sit-ups, and the count began.

If I were tasked with doing sit-ups today, I probably wouldn’t last very long. But when you are 16 and indestructible, and your choice is between sit-ups and geometry, the choice is already made.

The period rolled along. Bruce and I did our sit-ups at a slow, steady, easy pace. The four of us chatted matter-of-factly.

I don’t recall getting especially tired or sore. I was in the zone — sitting up, lying down. Sitting up, lying down. Talking, thinking, looking at the beams of the gym ceiling overhead. Sitting up, lying down.

Ten minutes later, Coach Larkin came out of his office to check on us. He asked our sit-up counts. Both of us were approaching 300. He nodded and went back to his office.

Occasionally, a student from one of the PE classes would peer around the corner at us. I wondered if word about us had spread — if people were talking. I never found out.

Halfway through 5th period, the coach reappeared and asked for the latest count. According to our foot-sitters, I was at about 700, Bruce a little ahead of me. We showed no signs of fading.

“You two will go to any length to avoid math class,” Coach Larkin observed. “But I’m impressed anyway.” He turned and walked away.

Near the end of 5th period, he was back. Bruce and I were still at it, slow and steady. Although we didn’t think of it as a competition, Bruce was 30 or 40 sit-ups ahead of me. At that point, we were at about 1,200 sit-ups.

“Okay, boys, the bell’s about to ring,” said the coach. “Ready to call it quits?”

Bruce and I protested mightily. The foot-sitters joined in, begging the coach to let us continue. None of us knew what the outcome of this odd little drama would be. None of us knew what we wanted it to be.

Again, Coach Larkin relented. He asked for our 6th period schedules, and, with a sigh, departed to inform our 6th period teachers. Bruce and I continued doing our sit-ups, slow and easy.

Midway through 6th period, Bruce finally gave out. Maybe it was a tortoise-and-hare thing; maybe in building up a lead, he wore himself out. His final count was a little over 1,800.

Bruce was okay with having to stop, but I knew he wasn’t going anywhere until I stopped, too. As for me, I wasn’t sure what to do next.

Stop and be done with it? No way — not after all the time and effort I had invested. I wasn’t worn out yet, and I wanted — needed — to keep going. But for how long?

With the end of 6th period about 10 minutes away, the answer suddenly came to me. It should have been obvious. I was approaching 2,000 sit-ups — a good logical stopping point.

Bruce and the two foot-sitters were still there, waiting. I told them my intentions. They concurred. Bruce went to get Coach Larkin to witness the finale and wrap things up.

In the end, I did 2,001 sit-ups. Coach Larkin said he was proud of both of us. Then he chased us off to the showers, which we finished in a rush so we could catch our respective buses home.

For the rest of the week, I was a minor celebrity in some circles. I did my best not to be a jerk about it.

But, of course, my fame was fleeting. Something else soon materialized on the student body’s collective radar screen, and when it did, I became old news. Life returned to normal.

I’m not bitter, mind you, but the fact is, I pumped out 2,001 sit-ups in less than two hours that day, and I don’t have squat to show for it.