| Biographical Flash Fiction posted January 7, 2021 |
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Revel, wallow, or let it go?
FLASHing on Attitude
by Elizabeth Emerald
In my past life, a mere 15 months ago, I was (relative to my 60-plus cohort) a fast runner, consistently breaking an 8-minute mile. I won (senior-division) medals in all but four of 63 races.
I'm tempted to either construe this story as fiction or to write it in the third-person. One reason is that I feel as if the racing champ is either a figment of my imagination or a person I barely know. The other reason is that it pains me to contemplate the contrast between my erstwhile self and my present incarnation into a body that can't break a 10-minute mile.
I'll spare you the sorry details of my long-and-winding downfall. Suffice it to say that I suffered a literal "down fall," in the form of an ungraceful swan dive. During my morning run, my foot caught the crack between segments of a lopsided sidewalk. Momentum propelled me into elegant form, which gravity de-formed into a splat. My chest took the brunt; recovery took six weeks.
I haven't run since, nor do I intend to. Having become increasingly demoralized by my negative progress, I was at the verge of calling it quits; the fortuitous fall clinched the deal.
Having the leisure to contemplate my days of glory, I've been of two minds. One of them encourages me to fondle my medals and revel in memories; the other demands that I hurl the lot and wallow in miseries.
Channeling mind number three ...
Lo!
Between the camps of the warring factions, it emerges.
Time out for mediation ...
A compromise has been reached!
Scrap enshrinement, desist from trashing. Move on.
And so I have. I shall henceforth reside here in StoryLand, where race is no object.
In my past life, a mere 15 months ago, I was (relative to my 60-plus cohort) a fast runner, consistently breaking an 8-minute mile. I won (senior-division) medals in all but four of 63 races.
I'm tempted to either construe this story as fiction or to write it in the third-person. One reason is that I feel as if the racing champ is either a figment of my imagination or a person I barely know. The other reason is that it pains me to contemplate the contrast between my erstwhile self and my present incarnation into a body that can't break a 10-minute mile.
I'll spare you the sorry details of my long-and-winding downfall. Suffice it to say that I suffered a literal "down fall," in the form of an ungraceful swan dive. During my morning run, my foot caught the crack between segments of a lopsided sidewalk. Momentum propelled me into elegant form, which gravity de-formed into a splat. My chest took the brunt; recovery took six weeks.
I haven't run since, nor do I intend to. Having become increasingly demoralized by my negative progress, I was at the verge of calling it quits; the fortuitous fall clinched the deal.
Having the leisure to contemplate my days of glory, I've been of two minds. One of them encourages me to fondle my medals and revel in memories; the other demands that I hurl the lot and wallow in miseries.
Channeling mind number three ...
Lo!
Between the camps of the warring factions, it emerges.
Time out for mediation ...
A compromise has been reached!
Scrap enshrinement, desist from trashing. Move on.
And so I have. I shall henceforth reside here in StoryLand, where race is no object.
I'm tempted to either construe this story as fiction or to write it in the third-person. One reason is that I feel as if the racing champ is either a figment of my imagination or a person I barely know. The other reason is that it pains me to contemplate the contrast between my erstwhile self and my present incarnation into a body that can't break a 10-minute mile.
I'll spare you the sorry details of my long-and-winding downfall. Suffice it to say that I suffered a literal "down fall," in the form of an ungraceful swan dive. During my morning run, my foot caught the crack between segments of a lopsided sidewalk. Momentum propelled me into elegant form, which gravity de-formed into a splat. My chest took the brunt; recovery took six weeks.
I haven't run since, nor do I intend to. Having become increasingly demoralized by my negative progress, I was at the verge of calling it quits; the fortuitous fall clinched the deal.
Having the leisure to contemplate my days of glory, I've been of two minds. One of them encourages me to fondle my medals and revel in memories; the other demands that I hurl the lot and wallow in miseries.
Channeling mind number three ...
Lo!
Between the camps of the warring factions, it emerges.
Time out for mediation ...
A compromise has been reached!
Scrap enshrinement, desist from trashing. Move on.
And so I have. I shall henceforth reside here in StoryLand, where race is no object.
 Recognized |
Helza Blaze by MoonWillow on FanArtReview.com THANK YOU!
FLASHing solo (sans contest) at <300 words.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. FLASHing solo (sans contest) at <300 words.
Artwork by MoonWillow at FanArtReview.com
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