She’s more athletic than I am.
It doesn’t bother me, though. I accept these facts.
(Driving home in the car I learn she was actively recruited for her college women’s rugby team…but turned down multiple invites. “I’m not into that.”)
(Her time was over a minute per mile better than my time. Winner winner, chicken dinner).
Me, race prepping: Geez. I think I need to buy new shoes? And a new bra?
Her: Meh. You can just wear mine.
Every time. She knows I’m helpless in sporting stores.
Her, one week before the race: How far are you thinking about running today?
Me: Um, I don’t know, I was thinking twelve miles.
Her: WHAT? No. You don’t do that a week before a race! How far did you run right now?
Me: Um, seven miles?
Her: That’s far enough. Get in the car.
Me: Oh. OK.
Me, today: I think my shoes aren’t good. My foot hurts.
Her: It’s probably not your shoes.
Me: Maybe it is, though. It’s in my arch.
Her: That’s not your shoes. That’s a muscle thing. You strained your foot.
Me: Oh. OK.
I pretty much don’t know what I’m doing.
But, that’s why I keep her around.
(And for other things, too, obvi).
Reblogged this on bears goats and strawberries and commented:
Good siblings.
My twin is the same. 🙂
Ha!! The funny thing is, I’m not her twin…but, she is a twin, just to a boy! But, we have been mistaken for twins our whole life, so this was kind of a happy memory for me. Thanks for stopping by.