Ask me about my sand castle, not my wheelbarrow.
In my younger and more formative years, I could compete in a silly physical competition willy-nilly, giving it my all and sometimes winning, sometimes losing, but always having a blast.
Now I am old and crotchety, and when I compete in a wheelbarrow race with insufficient practice and without stretching, I end up with a hurt knee and a possibly torn muscle, and a vow never to participate in a competition of this sort ever again. Loud, packed, dangerous, and with no meaningful success.
My Partner wanted to compete. I didn’t care. This seemed important to her. It was above my skill set. I had some trepidation on the specific form she suggested: applying more pressure on me and basically carrying her with no weight on her hands.
We fell. Tumbled. Rolled. Bounced back up and completed.
And I.
Didn’t.
Like it.
Back when I would do this as a small child, my injuries healed much faster.
But now, in my thirties, what even is the point.
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Also, Partner’s family and I built a sand castle. Great success! More on that tomorrow!
Julian Wise 