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.
