Alone in the dark

When I don't run, I don't think. 

And when I don't think, I don't live. 

The burdens of life in the last weeks, 

maybe months, 

have been so big and unexpected 

that sucked out the time I was used 

to dedicate to running. 

Away from the forest, away from the road, 

away from sweat and aching legs, 

away from beeps of the watch 

that keeps counting miles and seconds 

in an unstoppable way. 

This has been my life for a while. 

With very little running, a bit of gym 

to strengthen the knees and build core abs,

for the rest 

one of the darkest moments I could experience. 

Caroline has been around, 

trying to figure out the reasons of the unexplained lack of miles 

and running clothes to wash. 

I haven't found out either.

I just have been missing the simplicity 

of putting one step in front of the other, 

of feeling the silence of the road and 

the noise of the lungs, 

pumping air in and out, 

of the music playing only in my head, 

of those quotes echoing in my ears 

telling that one thing I wanted to hear 

which was energy transforming into pain 

and speed 

and knees absorbing the shocks of the stones 

in that trail that goes up and down like a roller cost 

and the hearth that wants to get rid of that fuckin' chest 

and pump blood until it has nothing left 

because there is no more blood left, 

only lactate, 

white as milk, 

heavy as pain, thick as oil.

The nightmare is over. 

I see light at the end of the tunnel.

I am back.

The Gipsy is back.