Sometimes when I go to the track there’s some sort of a peewee tournament of lacrosse or football, soccer perhaps. These little athletes have even smaller brothers and/or sisters who can’t sit still on the sidelines and who tend to gravitate toward that bright red mondo surface. Since I don’t have kids this gives me a view into their ways as I normally don’t think about them.
When I see these cute little tykes chasing each other around, I understand the primal need to run. I understand that we all have an urge to race one another and to see who’s faster. Who’s better. Stronger. I get that. What I don’t get is why the hell these kids or parents don’t understand what I’m doing. I’m putting so much effort and force out there. I’m actually working out and working hard toward a goal.
I’m not just flitting around the track for shits and giggles. There’s actually a science to what I’m doing here and now. The lines that mark the track and the numbers on my watch mean something. Accuracy, mechanics, breathing patterns, timing; they are all a part of this crazy lady’s workout. There’s a method to this madness and I don’t know why but for some reason lane one is very popular today and I intend to scare some kiddies out of it.
-JD
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