As the gauge read 9.26K, I felt smug. I had asked a colleague at work to pick a number between 1 and 10, promising that I’d run that distance tonight in kilometers after he had chosen a number (he chose 9). On my way to the gym, I tripped straight through the doorway at Zara and tripped out again with a shopping bag. My good intention to go to the gym and run like a hamster on its wheel was slipping away from me. I walked, steady, straight and swift to the train station and made my way home. As I reached my door, guilt set it. I had challenged myself (with Dave’s help) and I couldn’t go back on it. With the cat cuddled and my shopping put away, I changed into my faded sweats and pink and white trainers (chosen for fit, not for colour) and went purposefully to the gym.
I ran, quickly at first, then slowly, then fast as Sweden scored their first goal. I watched the two colliding teams run around the field and said to myself, “If they run for the next 50 minutes, so can I.”
By the time I finished, the gym staff were getting ready to kick everyone out. (ok, I’m slow, but I started late) I panted my way to the finish and felt satisfied that I’d done what I set out to do. However, in my eagerness to get going I forgot something critical.
1. I haven’t done this for a while.
I’m on the couch with my laptop settled to one side of me and an icepack on my knee. I’m afraid to stand up for fear I might topple over. Christ, I’m getting old…
Have you ever persevered at something that might do more harm than good in the wrong hands (or without due preparation) for the sake of your pride? What happened and if you had it to do over again…
Writing Prompt: Pride Before the Fall