An early night combined with sudden, shockingly fluid access to the net renders me reflective. A metaphor for life. I am clearly not built for endurance. 100m, 4 x 100m, 200m, long lump, shot put, discus. My events plainly speak for themselves. Is it mere coincidence that I seem to live my life in the same fashion? Short bursts of intense energy, excessive emotion that die when I don't breast the tape? The disappointment and frustration gut wrenching as you walk away, but then at least you do live to see another race.
It's interesting, and I suspect true. It would explain how I got into real estate. Or married. Or taking of Singapore. I never have a plan. Things just happen, and the direction my life takes, changes. Unexpectedly. Surprisingly. I don't have the stamina for anything else but a series of short sprints (I didn't particularly care for the 200m), the only ones I can win. The marathon is beyond my realm. I don't know it, understand it or appreciate it. Here and now. It's what I do. Tomorrow and what I don't know will always make me crazy. The 4 x 100 is where I excel. Unfortunately, advancing years have necessitated a revision to a 4 x 50, unless I'm horizontal. Or vertical. Or .......
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