Legs tell your stories.
They really do. From dragging stumps courtesy of daily exhaustion, to the peppy lunged steps that recount a great nights rest. From the slightly embarrassing tan lines, to the ghostly embraced whiteness. From the bubbled red bug bites, to the slightest and severe scars. Our legs tell stores better than any other body part.
Legs are the history book of our bodies. They remember what makes them hurt, when they feel like they were floating, when they screamed out for pain, and when laughter was unavoidable. Our legs, tell our stories.
Every boy has the childhood scar resulting from a death defying bike jump over a can of soda off the rickety home-made ramp constructed from left-over fence posts in your best friend's driveway. Every girl has scars from a gravel burn which occurred in 2nd grade playing tag with the boy they liked on the play ground during recess. Our legs really tell our stories.
And right now, this is the story that my legs are telling: Soccer season is here.
I am worn out.
My legs are one their knees begging this to stop. Luckily, tomorrow is an off day for soccer.
But despite the story my legs are telling, i am really looking forward to this season. It should be competitive and fun. I am wondering what story my legs will tell after their soccer playing days are over...
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