The Sport of Reading

Some people tell me that reading is not a sport; they must be reading the wrong books.

Have you ever read a book so shocking that you drop kick it to the other side of the room? No? OK, how about that time you read The Graveyard book by Neil Gaiman and every time you passed a graveyard after reading, you ran?

Or, do you remember reading The Never-ending Story by Michael Ende and walking for hours around all the big cities your parents would take you to just so you could find The Bookstore with your own book and story? It didn’t matter that graveyards are just graveyards and that bookstore is a movie prop; you sweated either way.

Be it a hunt for wands or heroes, a run from vampires, or a panting search for the fault in your stars, books will always leave you breathless.

The first time I ever drop kicked a book? Well, it was the first time that I read a children’s book as an adult. It was for a college assignment in my teaching post grad. After the book was bought, the tea made, and the fire lit I sat down to read The Boy in the Stripped Pyjamas by John Boyne.

I wrote a message on Facebook wall, ‘LOL! 😉 Night in by the fire reading a little kid’s book – fun times.’

When my college friends started leaving messages warning me about the book I assumed they were well jealous I’d a head start on the assignment. I even ignored Sally B when she cautioned me on Facebook, ‘Hey hun, are you alone reading it? Get your fella to come home early. You may need a shoulder.’

I laughed and wrote, ‘Where’s the I don’t get it button. FB needs to make one. ;-P  LOL !’

I started reading. Notes were made: sweet, innocent, naive, importance of friendship. Pages were highlighted and some corners turned down.

I ignored my rising sense of unease. More tea was consumed to quell my nerves. And a whimper of, ‘Don’t crawl under the wire,’ was whispered through hands clasping over my mouth.

ahoy pattern

I should have stopped there. Called for help. Ran away.

But I was stubborn and I persisted until The Chamber. I drop kicked that beautifully written book to the other side of the room, ran to the corner shop, which is over a mile away, and waiting until I accidentally (on purpose) bumped into friends. The notes I made could have been written by future me as a warning. Who knows?

I now realise reading is a sport of mind and that’s where all running starts.

Bastian for ever.

Published by Michelle Moloney King

Bookish and paintish! Mother, wife, teacher, and follower of flow.

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