He's always racing someone.
When he runs like that, I'm afraid of the pavement coming up fast in his face, afraid of the long shoe laces and the flailing arms. He doesn't look ahead. He looks side to side and sometimes even backwards, to make sure no one is going to overtake him.
He races in flip-flops and cries when he loses. He runs with his whole heart and sometimes his body follows suit.
If he were to ever focus ahead, stop looking around and stop wasting so much energy trying to win, he'd be a force to reckon with.
Whereas I don't race anybody but myself. I'll run a race tomorrow that I'm not prepared for and my goal? Finish faster than last year. Or just finish.
My son runs wholeheartedly but I lack enthusiasm. I run passion-less and slow, but consistent.
So what does the tortoise learn from the hare? The moral is always in the hare's favor - slow and steady wins the race. But this steady one needs a dose of wild-abandon and eight year old fervor.
And life is that way, too.
This post is part of Five Minute Friday, where we write on the prompt given by Lisa-Jo and these are the only rules: set your timer for five minutes and no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking. It's scary fun!
Today's random prompt is RACE and I really do have one tomorrow, so I couldn't help myself. I feel the same way I did here, all unprepared and breathless.
