Table Seven

I was at the park running alongside John (not brother Yan, buyer John) walking with his heavy hands - its a staple in my training. Although, I shouldn’t really call it running as it was deplorable. Running, shitty stride, and then walking arms pumping. Running. Walking. And all the while letting the mind part really talk smack to the matter part. Mind over matter, I should tattoo it somewhere on this body.
And as much as I truly try - shoulders back, head up, looking at the world as I jog right past it, I don’t always end up that way. Nervous about tripping, which is commonplace with these feets.
But, good thing I was looking down because as I picked up the pace around mile 1.75 - a spy some shine about a step ahead. A shiny penny, heads up, staring at me. Like a 4th grader who just learned the rhyme, I think Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck.
So I pick it up, drop it into the space between my two sports bras on the side and kepp on trucking. My luck may not have started turning up quite yet, but my pace sure did.