Stoner Athlete

Being an athlete totally suits my speed.

It’s about self-expression and the great outdoors- just me and my body in harmony with nature.

It’s also about sharing. Yeah, we compete but there’s a lot of love in the air after a race.

Every day I throw on a pair of shorts and a tee and go see my trainer.

He’s one serious dude. We hang out a lot. He suggests some sets and if I’m feeling it I do them. If I’m not we take a stroll and talk.

We get along great. We’ve been known to collapse together laughing in the park.

Grass is what I dig the most. Tarmac’s hard on the souls of the foot and that’s hard on my other soul too. Hey, I’ll head where you point me but I prefer to take it nice and easy and follow the marshmallow road.

Hurdling chose me. It’s far out, like being yanked up on a giant yo-yo every few strides: run a bit, wheeee!, run a bit, wheeee!, run a bit, wheeee!

Crashing is so totally not cool in the baby department. Makes me want to roll one up just thinking about it.

It’s kinda funny but my dog, Trippy, comes to the meets to watch and it gives me a real buzz. The track must look like a giant worm crawling with flies, to him.

To prepare I take a deep breath into my heart and become one with my shoes. I shake out my hair and loosen up my fingers. I search out the vibe and tune in. I never get the fear.

I concentrate hard when I’m competing but once in a while I’ll zone out. That’s generally when I’m getting lapped.

After a race I need to eat like a maniac: 2 steaks, fried eggs. And some special cakes, if I’m treating myself.

Then I like to chill out and lie on my back, looking at the stars, scoping out my place in the solar system.

Winning is a state of mind.

Sure, another guy may cross the line first but that doesn’t make you a loser.

Playing air guitar in the locker room makes you a loser. Or so they tell me.

Last year I was accused of taking drugs to inform my perharmance, perform my improvement… make me run quicker.

It was chronic. Which is to say, it was an involved time.

My trainer stayed solid, I weathered the storm and now I’m in a better place.

I’ve got an eye on the Olympics in London, I can’t lie.

But I’m not gonna let it stress me out.

I’m going to think of it as a journey and if it doesn’t work out I’ll take in some sights.

Me and Trippy looking out of the pupil of The London Eye.


Yeah, that’s right.


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