In what seems a lifetime ago, I lived in a stone house along
the Appian Way. During this brief time in my life I dated a Flying
Dutchman. Named this because he was Dutch and an airline pilot. Although I always suspected he was a flight attendant. As
after sex he would always attempt to give we warm towels.
One time, after a nice warm towel, and supplying me with a
soda, although never giving me the whole can, he asked me who my heroes
were. I was dumbfounded. I quietly realized that I didn’t have heroes to follow
and use as guideposts though my life.
From that night onward in the stone house along the Appian Way, I would
always have some sort of hero or role model in my life to strive to be as good
as and emulate.
Upon becoming addicted to watching the track and field
portion of the 2012 Summer Olympics, I watched a small story about a South
African sprint runner struggling to even participate in the men’s 400 metres
sprint. Upon Oscar Pistorius competing in the London Summer Olympics as the
first double leg amputee, and the controversy died down about his cutting-edge prostheses
giving him an unfair advantage over able-bodied runners, I became obsessed with
this amazing man’s struggle to overcome obstacles. When I got lazy about going for runs, I used Oscar for motivation.
Tired and not wanting to drive to the gym, I would think of Oscar the amazing
athlete.
On my birthday, I even turned into a crazy fan girl and
asked via Twitter for a birthday wish from Pistorius:
 |
|
So my other role models are a fictitious British
TV character
and a You Tube Vlogger. What’s to ya?
|
Quickly
When he replied, I squeed. My running deity, whom I worshiped
daily; and motivated me to be a better athlete, wished me a great birthday….
This buzzed lasted me until yesterday morning. When changing at the gym to go
for a run I hear my heroes name on the locker room’s TV. “Oscar Pistorius
accused of premeditated murder of girlfriend by South Africa prosecutors.”
I stood in my UA undies in stunned silence watching a video of Pistorius holding his head in his hands weeping openly in a courtroom as
prosecutors said they would purse a charge of murder against the paralympic superstar.
Thinking back to being asked about heroes by the Flying
Dutchman, in that house, on a street in Dallas, TX ironically named after the
most important Roman roads of the ancient republic, I realize now how
strategically important that turn in my own Appian Way was. To accomplish
anything in life you need role models. Sometimes… dare I say, most of the time,
your deity will fall.
