When I was in primary school, I made it to the next level of cross-country (a 3km race). Getting to this next level involved coming in the top 6 of your age-and-gender group at your school, while the next level meant competing against the top 6 from other schools in the area. To this day, no one really knows how I managed to get there, but I did.
The day came to compete against other schools, and I’ll tell you now that I came in the bottom half. This didn’t phase me; I hadn’t wanted to compete in the first place.
But then came the redemption: at the end of the race, every student was given a juice box. I think that juice box was the highlight of my year, because I still remember how good it was.
One year later, and the first round of cross-country began. I desperately wanted another juice box, so I forced myself to come 5th so I could get to the next level.
Again, the day came to compete against other schools, and I was driven by thoughts of getting a juice box.
But the juice box never came. There was no option for me to get some juice, and I never tried to do well at running again.
Moral of the story? If there aint juice I aint showing up.
Because I’m an adult now, and adults have to do things they don’t love and without getting a reward, I do go running. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t actually hate it. I quite enjoy it. Well, sometimes. I’m good at motivating myself and making good playlists, if that counts for anything.
To cut this story short, I made a poem about running.
It’s a dance, sort of,
Rhythmic in the least.
Your heart beating in time
To the movement of your feet.
The wind rushes,
As it always does.
But you’ve never noticed it like this before,
Flying past your ears.
The path never ends,
Neither does the sky.
I think in times like this
Life slows down before it passes by.
When I see people running,
Some have smiles on their face.
And I guess I’m envious of that,
But not enough to take their place.
I legitimately went for a run yesterday, and it felt pretty good. I suppose now I’m a fitness queen?