Waking up not early enough for a decent run, not that it feels good anyways. Sneaking out without anyone noticing, but in fact it is too early for the brain to function, and the body to act accordingly. Not in simbiosis whatsoever, hands mess up, and the brain does not realize, fvck I did something bad on my phone, applications seem weirdly annoying, it is too early, so I rather delete everything that can cause misunderstandings, phone numbers, contact lists, even some memory-filled apps for calmness. Now, finally finding the right program, the right buttons, I’m ready to go, pushing start but feel ashamed and sorry.
Sneaking out, I know run will help, but I gotta make it before anyone noticing. Not too early anymore. 1k, 2k, and comes the rest, I start warming up, this man joins and would not move from my side, along my strides. I let him go, slowing down, it is a solo one, I’m not social, I won’t be and can’t be anyways. But he is too slow, so I lenghten those strides and I pass him. It feels better warmed up, I keep running and thinking of today’s route, whereto, howmuch. Than I just cannot go any longer. I feel heavy and I am heavy really, I turn back and run to my car I left behind last night in order to drink a glass of pinot gris. Which afterall I didn’t even drink but left on the table, while listening to cheerful people as part of family by law being proud of my running and how powerful I was. That was the moment I left the room and went out to the roofterace to secretly cry. Cause neither powerful, nor proud I am. Running became a secret mission, a sneaking out session, something I need to lower emotinally to the level of neutralism, due to the fact that it makes the other unhappy. Keeping it back. Holding it back. Closing me up.
Not that it was hard to stop today. I felt heavy, ashamed, and totally misunderstood. I wonder how I could ever run the ultrabalaton or even any marathon or half ones, it seems like if it all happened that must had been centuries ago.