What a slacker.

Same as all my diaries from the year dot, ever. Entries for birthdays and anniversaries carefully and studiously penned in on day 1; medical records, insurance details and inside leg measurements on day 2; day 3 would include a few descriptive sentences, day 4 two sentences and by day 5 one word entries: "rained"; "bored"; "tired". Day 6? Blank, just like all the other entries would be till the end of the year.

Then New Year, new stocking and hey - new diary!

You'd have thought that by 45 years of age I'd have outgrown that, wouldn't you. Blogging is different to diary entries, isn't it, it's life-affirming, interesting, a hobby, palliative even - yeah right.

*Heaves a big sigh* Actually I love blogging, when my head, hands or other body parts will allow. I'm just very forgetful.

Today's lesson in life was watching a moody - moody? Well I thought so - disengaged youngster running a race he had no chance of doing other than losing outright. Yet he ran. He was shouted and clapped as he cried his way over the line - but he didn't give up. A transparent shade ran with him, a little girl with uncoordinated legs which slammed out to the sides, who not only had to contend with losing every race, but with listening to the laughter and jeers from her peers at her distractingly poor gait. She ran alongside him, in his shadow and he in hers, and they cried together. Was it bad sportsmanship to cry, babyish behaviour or just a strop? Probably; but unlike the girl he ran to the bitter end, and left her falling behind with her shoulders bent; and then he ran again. Never a giver-upper. And when the stress of taking part was over, and the finalists were racing, he sat on the wet grass with his friends and cheered on his classmates and youngers and olders and added wings to their feet with his claps and cheers.

He'll never win sportsman of the year; but he won't need to, so long as he remembers that he holds his courage in his heart, and that he is beautiful. Maybe he'll listen to those that tell him so, in a way that that girl never did, and still doesn't.