If I had to describe this morning with a single word, it would be “crisp.” The air was cool and dry. My quadriceps and lungs burned, reminding me that I’m alive. (When you’re running at 4:45 a.m., you sometimes have to check your pulse.) I ran 4.05 miles this morning.
I topped a hill and then down another one until I ran by a small lake. Fog taunted the still water, hovering inches above it. I looked up (I normally watch my feet closely so I don’t trip) and saw millions of stars guarding the sky. The Foo Fighter’s “Best of You” came on.
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
The song continued:
Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I’ll never give in
I refuse
I continued my run as the song rattled around in my brain.
I thought about the question:
Is someone getting the best of me?
Of course I thought of a couple of meanings. One of them was the most obvious, “Is someone messing with me?” The second was “Are you giving your very best.”
As I looked up at the stars, I realized the two are strangely related.
Yes, there are people who have messed with me. But are people getting the best of me?
The best of my love.
The best of my talent.
The best of my work.
The best of my running.
The best of my _______.
No one can get the best of me as long as I’m giving my best.
I smiled at the stars above and ran as hard as I could toward the house.
Thank you for sharing, you do a great service in cartoons and your talk show .