Ever read those running magazines that give you hints on how to improve your speed in races? Mind you, I consider the word “race” a swear word and rarely use it in my vocabulary unless necessary. I walk away from competition. Always have. You can have him, her, or it if you really want whatever it is that badly. Go ahead, really. Just take it. I’m not gonna fight ya.
There are very few exceptions to this rule in my life.
That being said, I ventured to the track today, magazine in hand, to experiment with some drills to improve my speed. Above everything my aching body may have gained, the amusement I provided my fellow track mates was the best part of the workout. I chirped and chattered out loud about how slow and pathetic and old I am. My self critique was colorful, filled with profanity aimed as how disappointed I was in myself. There were also outbursts of pure hysterical laughter at how uncoordinated I must have looked to those aliens watching me from outer space. (a story for later)
A humbling experience.
You know what though? I’m going back. Me, myself, and I. We are all going back. Because. I. Believe.
(insert smiley face looking extremely apprehensive here.)