|I loved running. There was nothing quite so liberating as feeling the wind rush through my hair. The pounding of my heart. The throbbing of my lungs. It was the ultimate high.|
I don’t know how many of you have ever been involved in racing… I mean on foot and not the automobile kind. If you have, you know how important your feet are to your very existence. They, along with your legs, are everything. If you don’t take of them, they don’t take care of you.
My feet were no less important. And I did have them taken care of… very well, in fact. I constantly had them cleaned and pedicured to make sure that nothing was wrong with them. And doctors were always examining them for instances of bone splints or excessive callusing. You just can’t take the risk that something will go wrong with them.
But another key to racing is comfort. Even if your feet are well taken care of, they can’t do much if they uncomfortable.
A lack of comfort leads to cramping; which, in turn, leads to fatigue; and then, in a worst-case scenario, you lose.
The threat of what could potentially happen should I lose and not place was always looming over my head. And it was quite the motivator.
If I didn’t win, I was worthless. And, since racing was the only thing I knew, there was no way I could ever try to do anything else. I guess I could retire and settle down and start a family. But, who would have me?
The answer is simple… nobody.
Nobody likes a loser. Even fewer can love one.
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