One of the stations on the circuit involves cones set out in a rectangle around the hall. The first side you walk, then jog, then run, and then sprint. Admittedly an onlooker would be hard-pressed to distinguish between my jog, run and sprint, but there is one. Although maybe not on the second circuit.
Anyway there are two of us doing this station and Jules, the trainer, says as I trot past, 'Come on, Liz. Don't let her catch you.'
I surge (push my head further in front) forward and, while slowly expiring, think, 'What am I doing? She's half my age: she should be catching me.'
Pride will be the death of me.
3 comments:
I admire your pride. I'd have hit the trainer!
I just hate having thoughts like "she's half my age." Ugh! But what can we do? I bet you could teach her a thing or two. She may well be able to catch you as you trot, but she's sure to have some catching up to do in life. Experience counts! And someday she'll be twice someone's age, too.
Point is, you were in the room, in training gear. Many of us weren't, nor likely to be!
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