Pride Goeth...

There I was--getting my run in first thing this morning, knowing the rest of the day would be too busy. And hot.

You can picture me, can't you? Flying down the road, graceful as a gazelle, ponytail swinging behind me.

Oh wait, that was the other girl out for her morning run. I was the one huffing and puffing in my over sized t-shirt (actually Hubba Hubba's t-shirt), lumbering down the road.

I was just at the point in my still very short (I'm still a little paranoid about my feet) run where I was feeling pretty good about myself. I had a pretty good pace going, (for me) and I felt ok.

And just as I was trying to figure out what had lodged itself in my nostrils that was preventing me from breathing through my nose (you can use your imagination to fill in the sound effects) I heard the sound of footsteps coming up behind me. Fast.

I looked, and then I saw her. Seventeen, maybe eighteen years old, in a cute tank top, running like the wind. Definitely not making snorting sounds through her nose, or labouring in any way. She quickly passed me, and I spent the rest of my run home watching her get farther and farther away.

After I got over myself, I realised that it didn't really matter. I was still out there, trying my best. I thought of what I think whenever I see someone trying something that I'm already good at. I never think to myself, "Gee, I do that so much better." Generally, I'm just excited to see someone trying.

And if the other girl out there running this morning thought about me at all, her thoughts were likely similar.

I hope.