Quadriceps

It’s a sprint to KFC and I only run when I feel like it. The chicken will have to wait for me.

They say “oh come on, let’s jog, we’ll get there faster”. You can go. I rather sprint and take breaks. “Well, we won’t save any chicken for you. See you then.”

I’m gasping for air, hands on my knees and chicken nowhere in sight. I should stop and start walking; I’ll get there eventually.

NO. If I walk, those greedy people will have eaten all of the good chicken by the time I arrive. I have to keep sprinting.

Sigh. I am exhausted already, can I even push on to the promiseland?

I doubt myself too much. Always questioning myself.

Stop. Don’t push yourself too hard. Constant work is all you have to do.

Start jogging? No! Sprint.

Sprint. Where too? Sprint. Against who? Sprint. For who? Sprint. Why?

FOR THE GLORIOUS CHICKEN.

My quadriceps are too wide for my jeans now. I have great legs. If only I could say the same about my top half. In the end, it was all worth it to share this tasty chicken with my amazing friends.

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