I tell myself it’s not a race towards a jolly laugh, yet I feel the pace quicken. Call it the mid-thirties, or maybe it’s just that choices have presented themselves. Whether it’s my youth that disappears with each step or the realization that there’s more to life than tricking a metabolism that has set its own course, my reflection is more than it used to be.
I’ve pinned numbers on my chest, trained multiple times for a variable digit followed by a “k,” hell I have even kissed dirt after completing an infamous swim. I remember my brother telling me, “dude if you have to eat while you are running, you are running too far.”
Maybe he was right.
Powders and pouches, timers and tick marks, those days seem like a life time ago. The land, sea, and air used to be my training ground. Now it’s just where my feet take me, beyond an alarm clock starting line, right on through responsibility, accountability, and how-did-I-get-here maturity. Oh right, and writing. I’d rather write. Let’s not forget that part.
We have choices. In my younger days, I ran. Looking back, I’m not sure what I ran from. I’d like to think my older-self (dare I say me, right now, with my son tucked away in his crib and my glass of Pinot counting down the rest of the night) ran after me with a blank sheet of paper. A few workouts – a run here, a long ride there – just enough to keep the ticker going is about right these days. The merits of extra girth may not be easy to see, but when you hear my belly laugh, you’ll know the reflection in the mirror is really me.
Prompt: Merits of extra girth