Speedsters

So despite my laziness and not rising before the dawn to do speed work in Eastport on Tuesday, I got in a little of my own later on that night. You see, there's this seven year-old chick, Adiya, who comes with her mom to the Folk Group on Tuesdays, and she's taken a shine to me since I agreed to teach her how to play guitar (and willingly applied super glue for her extra-large navy press-on nails. That there was the real clincher; nail technician, I am not. Apparently our girl didn't take a look at my nails before seeking my assistance). During the group's five-minute bathroom/smoke break, Adiya, attached to my hip, accompanied me to the restroom. When we got upstairs, she wanted to race me down the long hallway of Powers Hall, the arts building at the University of Maine at Machias.

You picked the wrong lady to mess with, dollface.

We tore like white lightning down the corridor, me beating her by a nose. On the return trip she wanted to challenge me again, still under the impression that she had a fighting chance. That next time I killed her. The momentum I had almost sent me sprawling face-first onto the carpeted floor. Still, I beat a seven year-old and, for those of you unaware, kids that age are pretty quick. All day yesterday my quads served as a constant reminder of my victory.

I'd thought I'd get in a run this afternoon, but remembered I now have one more obligation to add to my schedule: bird drawing lessons from 4 till whenever (in this case, it was 7), then dinner. There's always tomorrow.