I was out for a walk whilst on holiday and was a little overcome by the combination of heat and terrain.  The route I’d taken was tougher than I’d imagined from the description in the book.  I’d stopped for a breather (or ‘to admire the view’ as I like to think of it) when I spotted a cyclist making their way up the track.  Surely they’ll get off and push the bike up the next bit.  Which was a sharp bend and then an almost vertical track to the top.  I watched as they dropped a gear or two but kept going, slowly and steadily, up the track and over the crest of the hill.  Presumably to enjoy the free-wheel down the other side.  Watching that cyclist made me think.  Instead of turning round at this point and heading back to the car I was persuaded to keep going.   And I made it.  Up there.  To the top.  With even better views.  I was so pleased.

It didn’t matter that it had taken ages to get to the top, that I was puce and a little out of breath.  I’d got there.  Slowly.  I have no idea what it would be like to be quicker, less sweaty, not so out of breath and I am unlikely to ever find out.   My reality is that I am not very agile at the activities I choose and I can’t be bothered putting in the time to try to improve.  Who’s even to say that I would improve.  Improve what?  Why?   Is there a prize?

Perhaps I have been worn down by the years of not being very good at most sports, never being the fastest, the quickest, the most agile.   So that now I am unable to find that competitive spirit, that need to better my personal best, that desire to challenge myself to improve performance.  I just don’t understand.  I don’t think it matters.

Alternatively it could be my rebellious spirit refusing to participate in what seems to be an ever-present pressure to improve.  Not that I think I am perfect but really, do I need to justify my existence through a constant striving for better.  Can’t I just be. Enjoying what I am doing.

 

 

 

 

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