and once again: it happens.

As my determined little self sat restlessly in my house, a thought came to me.

AHHH I NEED TO RUN.

so, i did.

and, those tempting things called

HURDLES

played with my mind.

And i got them out.

As a result of jumping-the-gun and acting out of pure desire,

I fell.

And fell some more.

Ouch.

Pictures do it no justice, it looks (and feels) a lot worse in person.

I did this once already in the middle of a race in April.

My knee is completely scarred from it.

And here we go again, with another fall.

I cried.

Not because of pain, or hurt.

But because of disappointment.

I hate that word. I hate the feeling. It is the one feeling that I always try and avoid.

It brings more pain to me than anything else.

And the worst kind of disappointment is the disappointment in yourself.

It's okay, the fact my mother didn't sympathize with me and swore at me instead

It's okay, the fact I had to clean the tar out of my skin myself

It's okay, the fact I learned from this experience for my own personal benefit

But, I was still disappointed. I hate setbacks.