So last week I hurt my leg running.
And I don't know if until this I realized what a connection running had on both my happiness and my self esteem.
Simply put - I need it.
I feel like a gelatinous blob without it.
I miss it desperately.
Despite that typically on a hot summer day, I don't exactly look forward to my miles.
But...
since I am clumsy and hurt my shin, I've been on over a week off. And when I get back to running tomorrow (hopefully) it will have to be on the track.
That's right.
Circle after circle of boredom.
Which isn't fair.
Movies and television have taught me that the world loves an athlete. When they get hurt - like Chester from Invictus - they might triumphant and exciting comebacks.
They win games.
Break the ribbon at runs.
People cheer.
Instead, I will hobble along a track and pray to dear deity that the high school teams will not pick that time to practice.
(note: I almost wrote rehearse instead of practice. I guess I'm not the athlete I was faking to be.)
I think the most disappointing thing for me is that movies have taught me that underdogs typically win, and that injured underdogs do great.
But I suspect that I will be pathetically slow and woefully steady.
And while Aesop believes that's the real trick, we all know that in reality, the rabbit actually wins.
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