thrown down three miles on that bright, sunshiney afternoon, and were on the homestretch when Billy decided he needed to stop and do a stretch of his own RIGHT THAT MINUTE AND IT COULDN'T WAIT.
The enabler in me had crouched down to pet him while he rested, when from the road, I heard:
Since no one else was on the bike trail at that moment, and I could therefore make no other logical conclusion than he had been regarding me, I looked up. What greeted my eyes was a teen-age male, holding a very large beverage with a Sonic logo on it, rolling by in his pick-up truck.
My first thought was, "Wow."
My second thought was, "Dude, screw you. I'm awesome."
That's the thing - here I was, being the one getting exercise, and he was the one spectating from a vehicle.
I was doing something - he was merely the critic. It reminded me of a favorite quote of mine; part of which in engraved on a tiny paper weight that a family member gave me many years ago.
"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat." - Theodore Rosevelt; April 1910
Because that is what matters, in diabetes and in life. It matters that you're in the arena, and you're trying.
So screw them - you're awesome.