Confessions of a Toe-Hanger

I was the only girl I ever knew who could hang by her toes from the exercise bar in our upstairs front sunporch. It was about my only accomplishment. And I always realized it wasn't important. It wasn't like being able to ripple "Barcarolle" over the piano or daub unlikely streaks of green into a pastel portrait. There was no real future in toe-hanging. Unless, of course, you planned to make a career of testing crash helmets. And there were times when it seems I might have to settle for just that.
- from the Foreword