The Olympics is on, is it?
Elite performers on the world stage?
The best of the best, going head-to-head?
Chest to chest?
Face to face?
Excuse me while I chuckle into my generic breakfast cereal here. Heckers might even dribble some tea out of my nose such is my withering disdain for this upcoming global peacock-fest.
“Where do these true athletes, these peak performers get the competitive urge? That instinct to shove old ladies out of the way to get the last pack of humbugs at the petrol station.”
Now let me adjust this trumpet, I’m about to blow.
Because here, in this house, it’s the Olympics everyday mate.
24/7.
No lie-ins.
No toilet breaks.
The real battles
Here, when we get into shape, we get into shape for the real battles.
Hubby sent me this and I’m dying 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🫣 pic.twitter.com/J03PXGQ0L6
— Lila (@LilaL_Hrv) July 14, 2024
Hitting the gym / couch to get myself tip top to cover the long distances that matter, not that run round and round in tight lycra rubbish.
I mean, that’s nice, go for it. Good luck. You’ll need it.
This is what it’s all about. Dad (alternative) Olympics.
@americanhighshorts They’re all in a fantasy dad olympics league too @Mack Weldon #americanhighshorts #alphadads #olympics #fathersday #dadlife #mackweldonpartner #ad ♬ original sound – American High Shorts
I know what you’re thinking: where do these true athletes, these peak performers get the competitive urge?
The hunter / gatherer intuition.
That instinct to shove old ladies out of the way to get the last pack of humbags at the petrol station. To leave our kids weeping and simpering on the floor.
Could it be deep insecurity? Years of pent up hurt from that time you (me?) got binned off by the girl from the year below you (me?) fancied? Always trying to claw something back?
Now I think on…
