I vividly remember my glorious childhood days when I would run in the ‘big field’ (we called it that because we had two fields in our school — big field and a small field. Big field was big but small field was only relatively small.) When I ran I would think of myself no less than Usain Bolt. The wind blowing on my face like a hairdryer when I sprinted towards the football along with four others coming from different directions. Hair ruffled. Tie flying back. With predator instinct, my eyes chasing the ball. Their eyes chasing me. When I parted with the ball, I would stand there, hands on my knees, panting like a dog.
I felt heroic. Continue reading