pointless stories that falsely sound symbolic
I got caught between Summer and Fall's loud argument on my run today, as the summer sun singed my skin and the fall breeze tousled my hair. Summer is like that crazy aunt who won't leave when the party is clearly over. And the entire universe is getting sick of pleasantries and manners. Fall is about to take its predecessor's spotlight, and I was running through the midst of the awkward and marvelous conversation. And I don't like confrontation, but something about saying one final good-bye to heat and sweat, while simultaneously greeting the fall's cool temperatures was nothing like the usual disagreements I generally ignore.
So I ran through the seasons' quarrel and John Piper was getting passionate. I smiled as the pain my stomach from the numerous potato chips I regretfully consumed the night before while camping subsided. I smiled because my miles to go were dwindling. I smiled because Fall was clearly winning this dispute I was caught between. I smiled because this is my last long run before the big one.
My stride was interrupted by a misbehaving board that selfishly stuck its head above the others. My left foot tried to catch me. Then my right one. And then the dooming thought came.
You're going to literally biff it.
On the cement.
And you may die.
AND YOU DON'T KNOW IF YOU'VE GOTTEN A PART IN THE MUSICAL YET!
A few somersaults and rolls later, I found myself miraculously in warm grass, waiting for some (hopefully hot, hipster, male) passerby to come to my rescue and possibly give me unnecessary (but completely necessary) mouth-to-mouth. But I opened my eyes, untangled my ear phones and my arms, picked some grass out of my hair, and stared at the particularly uncommonly empty world around me.
I stood there, trying to figure out just how I made it from that wayward board to the cushiony grass rather than scraping across the 15 feet of cement that separated the two, and the physics didn't quite work out in my head (granted physics usually never work out in my head). I scratched my head, shrugged my shoulders, and pressed "Resume Run" on my RunKeeper app.
And so John Piper kept preaching. Fall and Summer kept bickering. And I kept running.
And smiling.
So I ran through the seasons' quarrel and John Piper was getting passionate. I smiled as the pain my stomach from the numerous potato chips I regretfully consumed the night before while camping subsided. I smiled because my miles to go were dwindling. I smiled because Fall was clearly winning this dispute I was caught between. I smiled because this is my last long run before the big one.
My stride was interrupted by a misbehaving board that selfishly stuck its head above the others. My left foot tried to catch me. Then my right one. And then the dooming thought came.
You're going to literally biff it.
On the cement.
And you may die.
AND YOU DON'T KNOW IF YOU'VE GOTTEN A PART IN THE MUSICAL YET!
A few somersaults and rolls later, I found myself miraculously in warm grass, waiting for some (hopefully hot, hipster, male) passerby to come to my rescue and possibly give me unnecessary (but completely necessary) mouth-to-mouth. But I opened my eyes, untangled my ear phones and my arms, picked some grass out of my hair, and stared at the particularly uncommonly empty world around me.
I stood there, trying to figure out just how I made it from that wayward board to the cushiony grass rather than scraping across the 15 feet of cement that separated the two, and the physics didn't quite work out in my head (granted physics usually never work out in my head). I scratched my head, shrugged my shoulders, and pressed "Resume Run" on my RunKeeper app.
And so John Piper kept preaching. Fall and Summer kept bickering. And I kept running.
And smiling.
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| life |
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