A good friend

Rachel, my neighbor at the Pooks Hill Keep, and I did the Turkey Chase this morning. We did the two mile race, not the ten km one, as I need to practice more with my manual wheelchair.

For the last couple of weeks I practiced going up and down the mild slopes of the suburbs surrounding the Keep. The one challenge was climbing up Pooks Hill, which took me forever to do. You should see how toned my arms are and my newly molded shoulders.

Rachel walked alongside me, blasting dance music from her phone, the 2:30 a.m. at a beach bar kind. Sometimes she’d squirt water into my mouth so I wouldn’t lose momentum. Once she playfully squirted some up my nose, which made me laugh. It made me mind less all those people passing me by, and their brief words of encouragement tossed like gravel in my direction before they turned the corner.

I finished. I was last, but at least I finished. Correction: Rachel and I finished last. We drove back to the Keep still wearing our hats shaped like turkeys and our racing numbers. It was a good day. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.