Went running again this morning. And my legs hurt. A lot. And I started thinking about the former Royal Marine Commando I saw featured on the Invictus program on Monday night. When he described what getting back to "normal" meant, he said, "but I wasn't an average human being, I was a Royal Marine Commando" and I felt...No, no, no. Stop rolling your eyes, Reader. I am NOT about to tell you how this man's story inspired me blah, blah, blah. For heaven's sake. I am not a Royal Marine Commando. I am lazy and soft and old. Pain means "stop," not "work harder." What I felt was envy. Envy that someone could have such faith in their body, and a damaged body no less, to be able to confidently say "I can do that, even if it is agonizingly painful." So not me. But that of course is the point of the Invictus Games. Showcasing the unconquerable spirit.
And then my mind started racing, if not my legs. From the Invictus Games (current obsession) to Circus (other longer-term current obsession). Some of these wounded athletes would be ideal for acrobalance. To be a good base you have to have strength. They have it at a superhuman level. As a flyer (my role) you have to have trust. Would I trust a man who has gotten himself blown up to protect his friends? Ummmm, yes. Like, seriously, yes. Then I was off....crazy new plans fizzing and flying all through the brain cells.
Why shouldn't injured soldiers run away and join the circus. Seems like everyone else has!
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