This is an unusual post. But here goes.
I appreciate my legs. They might be short, full of unusual bumps and bruises, and sore at times.
But they're my legs. When I sit, my feet don't reach the floor. They swing.
I have a weird bump on one ankle from when I severely sprained it about a decade. On the other foot, I have a raised ridge from whatever I did to it six years ago, tripping up the steps. I have a long scar running across the top of one foot, from when I sliced it open on an anchor.
I have a peacock feather tattoo on the inside of one ankle.
Regardless, while I might have scarred, bumpy legs, they're mine. They've carried me up and down the quarter mile at RIT. They've tolerated years of abuse.
They're good, strong legs. They can handle a 1200 pound animal with just a touch. They can walk for hours, for miles.
They're mine.
So ends my leg appreciation blog. Take some time to appreciate yours.
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