#100BM Day 14

Back story: I was a kid runner.

I came in something like 53rd in the city in a cross-country race in grade 4 (out of 250+). I came in 9th (out of 100+) in grade 8. Extended growth spurts, frequently twisted/sprained ankles, and, ultimately, teenaged laziness ended my running career. I didn’t really make a serious attempt to even try again for decades.

But running did preoccupy me 28 years ago when I wrote this appalling poem. *

A photo posted by Megan McLeod (@blautreacle) on

Oh, and I had very little follow-through even then; I struggled in the gifted program because, what, I had to make an effort? And do homework? Like, always? Nuts to that. Wistful dreaming about success and then doing nothing about it has always been a forte. It’s not endearing.

I do love that I made sure to keep note of my date and age. I was like a wannabe prodigy. What an arrogant dork.

I have not gone running yet today. It’s clear that I will never be number one at running, unless I do marathons aged 98 and am the only entrant and maybe cheap by driving most of the route. That’s OK. I am going to go out anyway, gently because of a cranky knee (which actually made a twanging noise yesterday when I squatted down to deal with some newly-started seedlings). Maybe I can be number 4521 instead.**

* I found this in with an envelope of postcards (mostly from me and my mother) and photos that had been my grandmother’s, so I assume I wrote this as part of some correspondence or while I was visiting. Lucky Grandma. Have I mentioned that my place is chock-a-block with inherited stuff? I am thisclose to drowning under a pile of miscellaneous old lady stuff.

** In my last Race Weekend Half-Marathon, I came in 4534/5546 women running. Yeah, I’m *that* good.

One thought on “Perseverance.

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