Ode...

i love my legs; as far as i know, i always have. i can't remember when i didn't love my, at times spindly, often-referred-to-as-chicken legs. even at a time when i either hated or was indifferent to every other part of me, i loved my legs. my legs, which i love by the way, were built for a life of leisure. they were built for high heels and miniskirts and, you know, that's not a bad thing to be built for. the trouble is that's not what my legs ever wanted to do. my legs wanted to climb trees, crawl through tunnels and fall off speeding bicycles - and they carry the many years of scars to prove it. my legs still want to win races, jump high and long, and play every sport they come across. but that's not all. oh no ... my legs want to run and run and run. ah, those legs. my legs. we always want what we shouldn't have. and when i try to reason with them, my legs ask me - would you rather sprain your ankle stumbling over the insanely high heel of some silly shoe or during a high-octane pick-up basketball game? when you soak your sore feet, isn't it great that it's because of a long run in the glorious outdoors and not because of some ill-fitting instruments of torture strapped to them? how cool is it that your knees hurt, not because you walked around all day on tiptoes, but because you ran faster, and further than you ever imagined possible?

i tell you, it's difficult to argue with my legs and, because i love them and because i want them to be happy and.. well... because they are right, i let them do what they will. these legs that i love.