I managed to unpack some summer shoes -not pictured- after the move almost a year ago. Those nude gucci ballerinas so simple so soft, still it bruises my feet the first time I every year. But off running time.
I realized I’ve been wearing sneakers year around, to work with tuxedo pants, to dinners with lbd-s, to basically anywhere. Pretty comfy and I guess I’m just getting older – I tell myself it’s a style though- to care to go high heels all evenings, not to mentions day light workable stilletos. No way. I’m a runner.
Sandals are ok, though I’m still a runner, toes can go insanely unatractive after a marathon. Not to mention runtans, which makes the whole feet totally white from the sockline down. Style. Yiha. I’m fine with sneakers and kicks. Whites mainly, and a pink one in mind still I’ve (we) found in Berlin. Also, my daughter just told me after a barefeet day running around the beach, her towa start to look like mine. It wasn’t a compliment.
But I was off to a fashion party, which basically rules out a nude gucci ballerina anyways, it’s either ss17 which is bright as a parrot or rather go barefoot. I went angiejolie style and gave no fvck to ss17 or even further trends. Being no trend but rather trendsetter.
I was shocked. Not of the crowd and the nightlife I’m so out of lately, but shocked of myself being distanced so much of these people lately. I used to hang out with them, day and night, we knew all Vogue’s edition page by page on memory, recalling years and even months mentioning just an editorial with this and that model. I casually sip on my champagne and wonder whether I’d missed the milleuo at all. Surprise to see some old time friends, we hug or pretend to hug while observing each other’s outfit guessing or knowing the labels already just by the fabric we touched while hugging. I move from the bar to the side, cheerfully waving to the marketing director of Nike, well I knew she was part of the fashions crowd of the city anyways. I see or more precisely hear the Gourmet guy, he talks and talks as usual, well, we generally meet in shorts and tanktops when runchat the trail, I move even more to the side to inspecting mode. Champagne just doesn’t do the work, no-chatter me mood. Peeps come and go, social butterflies, we talk a bit about bra vs no bra, and how you can tell who is from the art side of fashion- no bra obviously- or the business side -bra, fortunately no silicon strings in sight anymore. We talk running shoes, though from the aesthetic side of it. I missed couple of years of hanging out with them on the daily basis and I can tell; I have a run early in the morning and seriously I’m tired and wonder my scar caused by the non-sneaker will I be able to wear my flyknit racers the next day. It suddenly hits how my lifestyle changed and changes on the spot, and I realize I’m not even tipsy from the champagne nor that I want to drink any more of it.
Is it the day or have I actually stopped being spontan along the road to prepping for races instead of just say yes to a night to dance away on the fly? Probably both. I still could go menace any given night – see halfmarathon/hangover relay just a week ago – for the rhytm and the good sound, but sometimes I just turn old and boring and wish for a bed. Actually when I was an active social butterfly and owned the night I also wished for a bed usually.
I kill my legs the rest of the week but no dancing involved and soon I happen to be at the start-line of a halfmarathon at 4:30 am Sunday early. The course I know by heart, running the almost same on Ultrabalaton I wish for a windless chill summer morning, still hot but the sun not yet burns. It turns out superwindy chilly and me being utterly sick from the fritto di mare I ate for lunch for saturday casually feel like a square beton in my stomach. Gotta be smarter with fueling I keep saying myself. We start almost on time and this lady just rushes away from everyone in no second. I already give up on pushing it way too much to handle the mind – food, wind, WIND and flashbacks from the ultrabalaton from the fast guys’ biker encouraging me to never give up on elevation, the cheers I got running against the wind, etc. After 3km all I see in the front is the motorcycle showing me (!!!) the way. He goes away, later waits on me, and I wonder what’s better, being 5 meters behind him smelling the gasoline and him talking how good I run while I actually struggle and curse loudly about the wind, the elevation, the smell and the actual being there at 5am, what was I thinking running a half marathon with tired legs and no sleep. I also feel enormously lonely and calm on the road, it’s beautiful really, the view of nature and little towns along our way, no cars, way too early for any earlybirds even, it’s only me, wonder on how someone, like bro usually see this, runners in front have this privilege only, mainly men, except on women races. I also wonder where the men are actually? I don’t run that fast at all, especially uphill, dare not to look back but I hear no footsteps either. I can’t possibly win this race in absolute category, though never was interested in places rather the chrono. This is a small little race and I love it, but there should be some fast men around. At 17k the course slightly starts to go down, and that is when the first steps I finally hear from the back and soon passing me. I kinda feel I go fast, easy downhill something like a well deserved price for the ups, I check my watch, under 4min pace, feel it in my legs, the guy and two more easily come front of me still. They are fast I think and wonder what did they do on the uphill part and why haven’t they passed me earlier. The girl who junped out of start is nowhere found, we have our breakfast omlette all eaten when she hits finishline. I congratulate myself on my tactical not to chase her in the beginning.
Wind would not stop and my daughter lines up to start as well. She looks anxious and I feel she is worried. Her first ever race, and in fact I’m so anxious excited for her as well. 800m-s course she starts with the tongue sticking out of her bright smiled mouth, she runs ok, breathing heavily after a while. She feels like stopping so I keep cheering next to her when she all of a sudden changes rhythm and starts flying. We do that couple of times before the finish -intervalls or what – and I’m so proud, she did it. I love how kids just do it, even more so, they just fly when they want. Powers hidden come front and swoosh they just run.
Podium time comes after and I almost cry how the kids are so openchested proud accepting their win. All kids receive a goodie bag, and seeing my girl tightly holding her paperbag full of haribo and cookies I smile. She is just awesome, and the organizers are the most special kind of supporters. It was such a fun race and a good morning.
Riding back to our accomodation I tell my daughter that we go for a breakfast. She looks at me surprised: lunch you mean? Or is it still morning? It’s only 9am I tell her she looks puzzled and we burst out of laugh. Done a halfM and a kids race by 9 and we still have the rest of the day. Let’s go back to sleep I try, but NOT.
Off running. In my ballerinas – if I had it with me, sneakers on instead. Day contains some swimming and biking for the daughter and I explain what is triathlon to her.
Weekend is over.