Here’s my concern,
I won’t trade you for me. I can’t let you get in front of me and yes I am speaking of past races where I have lost and broken my stride or perhaps dropped racing altogether.
But your bones remember the pain, the sound of the break, the loss of support, splintering like an old tree branch snapped in two then thrown into the fire meant to warm another’s bare knees.
It’s hard to release that thorn that hurts just as much being pulled out as it did being pushed in. You want to forget and just let it go but one leg, maybe the left or right, keeps dragging ever so slightly behind the other, returning you to that one day when you went against the red, caution sign and ran into traffic, ping-ponging from one heartbreak to another.
Pushing back with all your might the force whose every intent was to run you over like newly poured pavement and leave you underfoot.
I just want my place in line.
Just let me take care of my own needs and settle into this new place before we begin.