What? Now you don’t think he is. How did I get someone like that and what does he look like? Slow down, honey. I’ll tell you. One question at a time. Way back in my youth I was fit, really fit, an athlete who could run ten kilometers and win medals, trophies. It wasn’t that hard really, just putting one foot in front of the other until the finish line. Truthfully I enjoyed it. Whether it was a country road or a tarmac street the steps became miles and they passed in a wonderful, exhilarating blur. There were faces, people clapping, the refreshing wind. At the end if I wasn’t falling over from empty legs I never really felt like I’d given it my all. I competed hard and I always won my category. Not that it makes me a super runner, I bet a lot of girls could have done it, but most my age were too busy thinking about boys and make-up, but they were normal, I was the loner freak - but a toned one. But enough of that, it feels like boasting about someone else, that’s how long ago it was. Perhaps I’m just throwing my ego a bone, it’s hard to keep that healthy at my age, hence all the mid-life crises.
Found in Are you awake yet? - first draft, authored by Daisy.
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