When I run I think of Alex Morgan.
There. I said it.
World Champion though she may be, Alex is only one of many faces I conjure to push past my mental and physical limits. Beyoncé, Britney, and sometimes a glamorized, cheek-chiseled version of myself are among the others that keep me pounding the pavement when my body and mind seem in cahoots to make me stop.
How, I wonder, can the mental mustering of muses squeeze another step or sprint out of me?
Cut back to Alex: as I huff and puff and list reasons NOT to sprint with each slowing stride, I think of miss Morgan on a breakaway, definitely more winded than yours truly but fighting through Olympic levels of fatigue to win the ball.
Oh, and then she does it again and again with nary a hair out of place. Surely I can run to the end of the block.
Tricking the mind or body to give - no, GROW more - is a matter of fantasy.
Whether you’re sprinting, dancing, lip-syncing for your life -- whatever that thing is that pushes you to the edge of your mental and/or physical limits -- fantasize. And find your Alex Morgan.
For me, running is (usually) that thing. Alex is (sometimes) my muse. And I (always) let it run away with me.
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