RDAU_2026-ISSUE0809_DIGITAL MAGAZINE

“You can do it!” he shouted through an open classroom window. I smiled and waved. FOR ALL VOLANT BIRDS, takeoff is its own art, complete with trade-offs and limita- tions. Consider pigeons. Thanks to a combination of body composition and instinct, they can fire themselves effort- lessly into the air an instant before get- ting flattened by your boot or car tire. Herons, on the other hand, are lankier and heavier. They need a lot of runway. That’s why you might see one pre- paring its wings when a predator is still creeping around nearly 200 yards away. They’re skit- tish—hardwired with an understand- ing of their own limitations. I, too, was mulling limitations on the afternoon of my offi- cial attempt. It was a bright and chilly December day, and I had controlledwhat variables I could— practiced asmuch as felt sensible, tested nearly a dozen chickens, identified an athletic field that was most likely to create favorable wind conditions. Dimensions-wise, the rubber chicken I’d settled on was a near match to the one Gürcü had recommended, though there were key sartorial differences. My $6.83 Outward Hound Squawkers squeaky latex dog toy was named Henrietta and came clad in a purple polka-dot bikini and swim cap. This outfit, I had to admit, felt appropriate. I had arranged for a team of survey- ors to meet me at the field, per Guin- ness rules. In addition to measuring each throw’s distance, they had to ensure that the surface was completely level. For all Guinness throwing records, the average gradient under your attempt cannot exceed 1:1000. If it does, you must throw uphill. By sheer chance, the surveyors I had found—a father- daughter duo—had both been com- petitive throwers themselves. They were delighted to be taking part in this attempt and, like Coach Mellion, went about their duties with a heads-down seri- ousness that felt more than a little misaligned with the task. My warm-up throws, aided by a trusty onshore breeze, were promising. I watched with satisfaction as Henrietta sailed past the 100-foot mark once, twice. There were other sources of lift too. As I wound up, I thought of Gürcü, who had wishedme luck, via Instagram direct message, earlier in the day; of my wife and her colleague Nick, who had I THREW TILL MY ARM ACHED AND THE WIND CHAPPED MY LIPS. reader ’ s digest 122   august/september 2026 come to record my attempts for the Guinness application. I thought of my friends’ excitement when they had learned about my project. But in the end, gravity won. As I was warming up, the surveyors approached me with unfortunate news: The field I’d selected had an almost imperceptible slant that pre- cluded me from throwing in the same direction as the wind. I would instead have to throw across the wind, aiming my chicken far to the right and watch- ing it slice down into our agreed-upon target area. Not ideal, especially since records this niche are won on the mar- gins. I’d found the right chicken, the right mechanics. But perhaps the wrong venue. I threw till my arm ached and the wind chappedmy lips. My best attempt was about 103 feet—roughly 12 short of Gürcü’s record. I called it after about an hour. As the surveyors packed up, they refused to let me pay their customary $225 hourly fee. Instead, they instructed me to get in touch again when I had found a flat field and a good tail wind. They’d be back to help. I had failed, technically. So why did I feel like less of a failure than I had in months? Perhaps because focusing on the project had helped me siphon brainpower away from my turbo- charged self-doubt cortex. Perhaps because it was enough to know that friends, family and unidentified school- children were rooting for me, no matter how ridiculous the task at hand. Or per- haps Lachman was right: I hadn’t given the opportunities of midlife the consid- eration they deserved. Whatever it was, I drove away from the field feeling lifted, lighter. Maybe I’d considered only limitations and forgotten that my second act had yet to be written. Maybe I was simply in burst flight, with plenty of flapping to go before gravity finally pulled me down. Big Dogs on Campus The Penn Vet Working Dog Center in Philadelphia is, essentially, dog college. It offers training in disaster response, disease detection, invasive species monitoring andmore. Just as college students declare their majors, the canines choose their own career paths: They indicate their interests through eagerness and ambivalence, and they are allowed to proceed accordingly. Caring for and educating each dog at the center costs upwards of $50,000 (the center sustains itself through donations and grants). The graduation rate is above 90%. And almost every dog who enters the program exits into a stable job. PoPular Science FROM SLATE (JAN. 19, 2026), © 2026 THE SLATE GROUP LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. USED UNDER LICENSE. readersdigest.com.au 123 Just for Fun