This all started because I was always the last one finished my supper. I was stuck there, piling in some gross salad mom had made while my older brothers, Sam and Ian, tempted me with their dessert. I was 7 years old, I couldn't retaliate. "Four more bites" my mother would say from the kitchen.
'Four more? Four? Maybe one, let alone four', I would think to myself.
"If you have three more bites then your muscles will grow really big and you can beat up your stupid brothers." Good point. We settled on two.
Even to this day, my bros will come home for thanksgiving and have to go through the dreaded procedure...
"Every bite you take will shave a second off of your next race time", my mom would say to Ian. That convinced him well enough. For some reason, my eldest brother always had a weird competitive side to him; a competitive spirit that made him think he was always being challenged. Not only that, but he had to win that challenge, even if it meant pinching his nose before shovelling a few loads of colslaw into his mouth.
Now I live at home as the only child, so I get told the same thing; yet one day, I contradicted it.
"Every bite you take will shave a second off of your next race time", my mom would tell me.
"No, running fast will shave seconds off of my next race time", I said.
That's when I realized, it doesn't matter what you do, or how you get there. If you wanna get fast, you're gonna have to bring your A game, and run hard.