I finished a half marathon yesterday. In the weeks leading up to the race, my nieces and nephews kept asking if I thought I'd "win." Anyone who's finished any sort of race knows that finishing is a win. So getting a participation medal is winning enough for me. More than enough. It's practically a miracle. I'm probably the world's most reluctant athlete, and a solid middle-of-the-pack runner.
But that's fine.
There are plenty of other awards I could win - if anybody gave out awards for the things I'm actually good at:
- Drinking more coffee than my doctor recommends
- Remembering every intricacy of a plot but not the characters' names
- Planning vacations I can't afford
- Owning the world's highest unanswered correspondence stack
- Dreaming about getting up and getting ready for the day and then waking up and realizing I still have to get ready for the day
- Losing socks
- Forgetting birthdays
- Making friends with waiters and waitresses
- Dithering over punctuation
- Driving to the wrong destination because I'm busy working on bits of dialogue in my head
- Writing out detailed shopping lists and leaving them at home
- Proofreading texts after I send them