I cannot run.

I cannot run. This is factual.

I had to run yesterday to get to the shop for my lunch. It was awful. It was unsightly. It was not something that nature would have designed, and I apologize sincerely for anyone who witnessed it. To compound matters – I was late, it was shut. Bugger.

To be fair I am not too keen on walking – so this is no real surprise. Sure enough I can propel myself at a faster rate than a standard walk – but it is not a natural process. It is uncoordinated. Ugly. Unnatural. I am an upright ape that would probably do better on all fours to be fair. This is not news, this is history. WE are history.

Yesterday was sports day for The Child Process. She took part in a number of events. She was Last and Second to Last in every damned one.

She won an award for “Trying” for her efforts, and for smiling through all of the events. Well, bless her – she had the time.

I am reminded of myself at such times. I used to end up in events like the “Quoit Relay”. This was a code word for ‘the children who simply lacked coordination or speed in a straight line’ to do anything else. I knew this. The other kids new this. Possibly even the parents knew this – however it was never really spoken out loud.

I stood in the line with the familiar faces – the other children who were ‘last to be picked for the team’ – and bound by a gentleman’s agreement that none of us were going to strive to win. If we didn’t all finish about the same time – then that was a careless oversight more than a plan.

Thankfully – there was no Award for Trying when I was small.

What I didn’t realise at the time is that I am competitive. In fact it burns within me with the heat and weight of a thousand suns. It passes judgement on my every day. It both drives and destroys me.

The same child who could not manage to run between the lines on the track or clear any obstacles went on to ride and swim. He discovered his love for events that involve him against himself – particularly A to B quickly. Deciding that 100 miles was not a dream, it was achievable to the point that it became most weekend rides. Having made no secret of his hatred of riding up hills, but a fascination with limits I hunted down the harshest hilliest event I could find, and completed it. Having tired of swimming as child – begging my parents to stop making us go. The very same repetitive and lonely nature that pushed me away seeing my return with a new found passion – albeit at my own pace, style, and pushing distance over speed. Sometimes its a flicker, sometimes it rages inside you. It is just a matter of finding those outlets. Those things that burn inside you… and fuelling them.

No matter what life throws at you, good times, hard times, sad times  – through loss, weight gain and loss, bereavement, and injury – try – TRY to keep focus on those things that make you. Like watching a flickery old movie, VHS, or old pictures of you as a child. You change every day – reborn in every moment – but your past is what makes you, what drives you. Keep true to those core strengths. Go search them out. That is the journey. That is the point.

As I hear of The Child Process and her Award for Trying I am reminded of this, of failure, of success, of finding joy in places you would not expect. Of strength. Of not letting how things are now govern the way you think about the future. This is who and where I am now – this is not who I am, who I will always be – some times the pursuit of that is the journey.

I could tell you small person – but you would not hear. One day. One. Day.

In the interim – screw you dark clouds – screw you apathy – screw you eat, work, eat, drink, sleep – I am coming for me, I am my own caped crusader, and you had better have an army.

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