Three days after God's Zamboni did its thing on the landscape I'm 15 minutes late leaving for work. A light dusting of snow has added camouflage to the layer of ice I am walking on. About 5 minutes in the thought that I haven't fallen during a walk to work all winter pushes past David Gilmour's guitar and into my head. And my next thought is that whenever I have one of those personal streak revealing discoveries, it all goes wrong shortly after.
I haven't missed the fairway all day, followed shortly by a beautiful banana shaped shot that finds the deepest part of a river on the edge of the next fairway.
I haven't had a flat all ssssssssssssssummer.
One hundred yards from the front door and that thought had left my conscious brain and went right over to the section that controls the mobility department. Down I went, fortunately landing on my hands and knees but in front of three guys out for their morning smoke. David Gilmour in the headphones drowned out any snickers but I could feel the eyes on me.
This must be what separates the true 'ice in the veins' athletes from the rest of us. That and a heaping dose of physical abilities and dedication.