On Flying

So I recently had an incident where I had fucked up my knee.

I was on the 10km weekend run and you know there is that one point in the run where that song kicks in and the winds start blowing and the beat drops and you run like mad as if killer ducks are chasing you. Chasing away that runner’s high. It’s the point of the run where you basically feel like you’re flying.

But suddenly the realization hits you like a block of cheese in your face that now you’re running too fast.

You can’t control it.

You can’t stop (this line is hitting deep on so many levels).

You try to stop but you end up losing your balance and just when you thought shit couldn’t go further south, shit goes east. [Enter person jogging/flying from the east] And well we all know what happened in my Christopher Nolan-directed saga/account.

Luckily, I didn’t fall but just jerked my knee a bit. Doc says it’s just a minor tear and I will be fine in 3-4 weeks. At least I can walk without any pain for starters, but climbing stairs one at a time sucks.

Later I thought that maybe that incident was some sort of omen, you know life trying to teach you something cliche.

But then after some time it clicked.

I mean it was bound to happen one day.

I knew it was coming.

You can’t chase perfection with broken legs.

You can’t fly without leaving the ground.

P.S. - This was a journal entry from a month ago that I found sifting through the dusty pages. I have no I idea what I wrote meant, maybe I am an overthinking block of cheese, but still it sounded deep, so I thought I’d share it.