While out for a quick run this evening, thoughts slammed into my head like eggs on tile:
I’m running. I’m not slow. God loves me. I’m happy.
…and then I looked down at my legs. I have big legs.
I’m okay with this, slowly getting more and more okay with this each day. My legs are not twigs. Twigs snap easily. My legs have carried children, groceries, base plates to an 88mm mortar system, hay bales, crates of ammunition, generators, and myself across numerous finish lines. Little sticks can’t do that.