Keep Running

When you were a baby learning to take those first tentative steps, did you stand up and immediately start waltzing?
 
No. You got up, took a shaky, oh so shaky step, and sat down again. Or fell down, whichever one. And you didn’t even cry, you just stood up again, and took another step.
 
What changed?
 
As a child when you rejoiced in the simple pleasure of running, you inevitably fell and skinned your knees. Did you sit there for years, staring blankly at the blood as it oozed from the wound, wondering how this happened?
 
No. You shed a few tears, got up, ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the fact that you could see the bone, and carried on running.

What changed?
 
There comes a point in everyone’s life where it becomes impossible to get up and dust yourself off. You sit, and crumple, and lay there, wondering why nobody is picking you up and dusting you off.
 
Look around; they’re all crumpling too, wondering why nobody is picking them up and dusting them off and reminding them how much fun it used to be to run.
 
Wasn’t running so much fun?
 
I'm nineteen years old, nearly twenty, and my childhood is so far away, so far behind, but I can remember thinking “Well, that was silly” and getting up, laughing through the pain.
 
I’m nineteen years old, nearly twenty, and I feel so old beyond my years, but I can still remember how much fun I used to have running.
 
I’m nineteen years old, nearly twenty, and I just fell down again. It’s a bad one; I can see the flesh of my heart beating, and it hurts terribly.
 
But you know what?
 
I feel like running again.