Running to Think

October means fall, trees losing their leaves, the sky getting greyish (a bit more here in Belgium) and people getting more lazy. Not us.
October for us has just one meaning: running more and getting ready for the winter season, in one word, actually two, half-marathon of Bruxelles. Due to the race-of-the-year, scheduled on October 25th, I decided to run it at a gentle pace and be Caroline's bodyguard in the first part. I ran with her for the first 5 km at the pace of 5':09" per km, a pretty fast one for her. I had no reason to mentally push her as I saw she was enjoying the run, measuring herself in the first three hilly tunnels at the beginning of the race and projecting her condition on the long distance of 21.1 km.
At km 5, I got her approval to go, crashed my lips on hers as a mere sign of good luck, and gave free rein to my legs, which were waiting for the signal. Unchained, they galloped me towards the finish line, which was only 16 km far. I passed a number of runners and put myself (and my backpack) in front of 3500 people in about 12 km.
I enjoyed it, a lot. No pain, no stress, no rush, at the moderate pace of 4':05" per km.

I hereby thank Bernard for the beautiful image and post-production.

The best came in the last 3 km when I decided to taste the delicious flavour of strain and increase the pace to 3':29" per km. A joy you can appreciate in this picture of me almost approaching the finish line.
I had no bib number with me. We need none in the forest. Caroline did. Therefore she could get her diploma and the official race time of 1h:55':54".
Not bad at all as her first time.

There is exactly one week before the biggest challenge of this year: running 32 miles the day of my birthday, when I will be 32 years old. Now the distance that I chose to run shouldn't be a mystery anymore.
I have to put some more pasta in my diet and add at least 1 hour to my sleeping schedule. Not very easy, though. First, I am not a serious pasta eater (despite my italian origin), and also due to another aspect which is characterising my life in this very last period, which resembles the one of a real gipsy. No stable place, no stable relations and travelling from one city to another for several reasons that include working, pleasure and, sometimes, even for getting a shower. Add to the equation the fact that I am doing all that by bike and you suddenly get a flavour of how tough the situation really is.
I am not complaining. After all I am a gipsy.

View of Marolles, Brussels city

The plan today was a slow run of 13 km. But I enjoyed it so much that I made 18 km, running from somewhere in the city of Brussels to the forest La Cambre and back.
I should stop doing that. Shouldn't I?