“You train for endurance,” he responded, “you don’t train for speed.”
Mile Three: A ginger held open the door to the porta-john for me. They do have souls.
I thought I was well into Act Two, but I am realizing it’s just starting.
I could be emotionally completely in the process, but physically know when to walk away because the piece was finished.
My jog is someone's run and my run is someone's walk. And that's okay.
We are all just messes of insecurity and anxiety.
I could only assume it was the mother by the intensity with which it cried.
You’re past eating cake at that point; you’re partaking in a spiritual communion bigger than the body.
Me today, I would have verbally eviscerated him and filed a complaint with the medical board. Me then was so sad and tired that I didn't say anything at all.
“Hell yeah random lady on the max is rocking it.”
And the closer we got to the coast, the fog hung up in the tree tops, and every little curve in the road made my soul smile because not knowing what’s ahead used to scare the shit out of me.
“Are zeeez Ger-man Shorthaired Pointers?” she asked excitedly in a thick, not quite distinguishable accent from some eastern part of Europe.
Maybe it will hit me square in the near future, but a part of me hopes I always look around with a bit of wonder at it and never lose this new appreciation.
Suddenly her petting his lap didn’t seem as weird.
Sure, there are setbacks and you have to pivot, but none of the great stories started with, “And then she sat in her house on Walts for the rest of her life.”
I was just a little munchkin not even half the height of the basket, but as he let me win, I felt taller than the trees.
The bike was the next best thing, so I did sprints up and down hills, my muscles on fire, until my mind was moving slower than my legs.
Our relationships with our dogs are so simple 95% of the time--damn the 5%. We take them in knowing we will almost certainly outlive them and still develop the strongest of bonds.
It all started when my mother sent out an email “Calling all kids and dogs.”
I’ve heard, “Your dog is SKINNY!” more times than I can count and Joey certainly never lets those kids lay a hand on her.