Sometimes it’s just better to use your imagination instead of me providing you with the awkward photos or worse yet, the (soon to be erased) video. The other night we had some family races in the front yard. I used to be a pretty decent (short-distance only – although I am pretty proud of my 12 minute mile!) runner in high-school. There’s wasn’t a 100-yard dash I couldn’t win.
So I was pretty sure I could smoke my 9 year old in a race down the driveway. Yeah, I was a little worried about falling, twisting an ankle and breaking a hip in front of the family, but I just knew I had this one. Turned out no, I didn’t have it at all. He crossed the finish line with me about 15 feet behind him. It was pretty sad.
Even sadder is the pain I felt the next morning and even sadder than that? The REAL pain I felt on morning #2. As I descended from our upper-story bedroom, I first felt the screaming pain in my shins, then my calves, then the tops of my feet and then the tops of my thighs. I know I’m no athlete, but really? I guess I’m just glad I didn’t fall and break a hip after all!