This is a story about two vehicles.
Years ago when I lived in Crested Butte, CO I drove a 1994 Chevrolet Truck. It had a lot of miles on its frame and was rusty in places. The shocks were bad, the tires worn and the exhaust smoke left a telltale trail of my route. The poor engine was old and it couldn't get me much over a speed of 65 mph. It did however start everyday and got me everywhere around those mountains.
One day I was driving down to Gunnison, CO to get some groceries when in my mirror I spotted something red and probably only 3 feet off the ground, approaching fast. Like REALLY FAST.
As it blew by me and down the open road I couldn't help but admire the sleekness of that car. Its lines on the frame were smooth and cut the air. The paint was pristine and powerful. The name Porsche stood out in the sun, and the sound of its engine was the definition of speed at a level I could not comprehend.
When I arrived in Gunnison, I found the parking lot of Walmart and navigated a maze of SUVs, Winnebagos and a few Cruise America Luxury Liner Vans. Parking was almost non-existent. Then through sheer luck or fate, I found a spot in the back row right next to you-know-who,
"Mr. Porsche."
So how does this tie into running?
I see it all the time on the road and at races. The runners who are so fast. They are slim and trim and incredibly fit. They run speeds I could never dream of running at my age or at any time in my life. We read of their success on social media and we often feel inadequate or jilted by genes we lack from our parents. We often feel that we just aren't good enough. Why can't we be fast?
But you know what? Accept it.
Here is the moral of this story:
It does not matter if you are a Porsche or a Pickup, you will still end up at the same finish line and that in itself is victory.
Keep it in your lane... .
