One more for the psycho self

   

 So the week went by, in fact weeks.

Kilometer-wise still over one hundred, can’t stop won’t stop kinda way. I enjoy. Being low key is optional,  missunderstanding is probably a must, it is not that I can’t stop, nor that I want not to stop. I have feelings, keep bugging me from inside, not an easy task to let something so good go, not that I could. Rest week supposed to be the week, still over a hundred, though I did skip one half marathon practice day.

Such an oximoron to keep a personal blog when one wants not to talk about herself in it though. Struggles of the outside world’s point of view vs me’s POV. None of them real I suppose. Just a POV obviously.  

I fall the other day, and it felt great, I love war wounds, I love stories behind it. Mine was simple though. After a hard run on the hills with the one I should be marrying if noone else wants me by the time I get forty – this is a deal we had made at age 17, we are now friends still joking on our youth wise-ness though, but he is married happily ever after and I’m glad, he is a friend afterall – I was to go to my side job my brain decided to take it, the so called nike runclub cityrun. 10k, easy pace. Some new peers were to come too, we made it a real fun night we thought, under the flag sign of my days run party repeat one. I was running late – not usual, my punctuality should be more famous than me for sure – because of Marilyn, my dear twin, oh yes, she shaved her back side of her head, i was told the other day, she started to look like me, but I don’t take notice, rather not,  although it is a personal blog, I’m not self confident enough to say things like that. I’m not what others think I am, lately I think I cannot express this enough occassions – deep inside it hurts, can you fvcking hear me?!. So, running late, arrived when peers were leaving, upset I got asked where they were heading? Seriously my confidence was lost somewhere totally, but gladly they were just pick up some beers than came back. Pre practice drinking already. I was chosen to go with the slow ones. So slow, I didn’t even have to pick up my feet from the ground, and this how I fall. Sliding through the flat surface of ground scraching my knees, my pelvis, elbow and even my cheekbones, as well as my watch and my sister’s fuelband. I loved the fact it started bleeding. Everyone got worried, but I loved it. Weird me. 

The guys picked up some more beer while we the slow ones finally arrived. i showed them my well deserved wounds, this is how serious I am towards running. Bloody serious. 

In the other hand, I feel enormously categorized to something I’m not. Humiliated perhaps sometimes. And not because of the fall. Running towards the finishline we accidentally run into someone I get to know through running. Someone that on real I don’t even know, he doesn’t even know me, and that is all ok, we can talk, no expectations, in fact. Felt good to be myself. After race drinking I also felt great. No expectations, no playing around, no harsh words, no snob acknowledging, nor conservative perspectives – all that I’m in love with otherwise. Them and me and some drinks. 

Take me as a turf, I don’t care. Use me as a triumph, do the cinicism, play around. Hate me and play me for being naive and honest, I do not mind. Cause I know where I stand, even if it doesn’t matter. At all. 

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