False Start on 2013. Do Over.

On your mark. Get set.

I’m off and running.

BOOM. The pistol blasts.

Shit. My face burns with the sting of embarrassment.

The announcer shouts from his podium: False start #10, Kamm

This was supposed to be my race.

My year.

I jog back to the starting line. My eyes intently focused on nothing and everything. Anything to avoid the hostile crowd and my seething competitors. Their tone as belligerent as a wasted drunk, denying his problem when confronted by a caring spouse.  I want to shout back: Save your energy suckers! You’ll need it!

I don’t believe my words. It’s just that place I go to when I’m angry.

I’m back at the starting line trying to calm my nerves. My attempt at composure is feeble at best.

It’s one false start. It’s ok. You can do this. You can do this.

I silently repeat this mantra, half believing it.

For the first time I allow myself to glance at my competition.

I glance to the right. My stomach sinks.

I glance to the left. My adrenalin diminishes.

Here I stand on two trained but tired human legs, expecting them to sprint me to a victory against these four-legged beasts. Centaurs. Half bulging bicep, chiseled chest sprinter; half silky haired Herculean horse legs.

I’m doomed. I don’t stand a chance.

I need to run but not to win, to hide. I can’t let them see me cry. I won’t.

I wake up sweating.

It was only a dream.

Thank God.

It was only a dream.

A dream that’s outlined by real events and colored in with mythological creatures and random oddities found only in a dream. The first week of the year did not get off to the flying start I’d hoped for.

Instead of a sprint though – it’s a journey. There will be no announcer condemning a false start. No rule stating that another false start will result in an automatic DQ.

This is real life and I get the opportunity to keep plugging, keep believing, keep beginning.

This is real life and in the midst of the muck I can still see so much magnificence.