There's this hill at the end of my weekend bridge runs I call John's Hill. My 6 year old told me I can make it up the hill, but I have to think I can. So I named it after him. It's a beast and I am not a graceful runner. My blindingly bright shoes clop. My lungs crush air into this terrible sawing noise I do my best to hush if another runner crosses my path. My undermining thoughts try to convince me I could walk the dang thing faster. Then I remember one word. Grit. I'm running the hill because I decided to. Nothing more is needed. I figure reaching certain dreams are like that too."By RustyObjects (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons"
