I have decided to stop living a lie.
I am never going to be a person who runs. Or jogs.
Running has been on my “things to take up”-list for I don´t know how long.
I think about it almost as much as I think about cleaning. (And I think about cleaning a lot. All those handy ways to keep ones overstuffed apartment spick and span all the time.)
But no matter how good my trainers are (quite), no matter how potent the testimonials about the joys of running given by born again runners are (very), no matter if the weather is perfect for a little sprint & wiping off the awful guilt of not spending every waking moment outside when sun is shining (utter perfection): I still would not go for a run.
Frankly, I find running boring and monotonous.
There are monotonous things in this world, such as popping bubble wrap or watching nail varnish dry that gives me great joy indeed, but putting one leg in front of the other in a rythmical manner in order to gain speed is not one of those things.
So I guess it´s time to face the facts. I´m never going to be a person who runs.
However, I might be a person who gallops. Or trots and jumps a fence. Dons an occasional canter or capriolet. And neighs every once in while.
In other words, I want to play horses. (Not in any wierd adult pony roleplay kind of way. Chacun à son goût, but it certainly is not my bucket of wheat.)
I want to play horses like I used to when I was a child! I want to ride an imaginary Andalusian steed and roam forests and fields. Feel the wind in my hair. Chase bad guys or run away from them. Take part in dangerous rescue operations where there is only fools hope left – and succeed. And if in the process I happen to get fit(ter), then all the better.
So if anyone of you can relate with this drop me a line. And if you´re in the area, maybe we can go for a jolly gallop and play make-believe Indians.
I get to choose my horse first! And my Indian name – Moon Lily.
