Still running dreaming of the medal. Not really. I go over the route in my mind before sleep. By 8km, that steep little hill up to 45th cutting I’m asleep. But its ok, that first agitation is gone and my mind’s made peace with the effort to come. As I ran this morning I visualised the first ~20km of the route. Then I stepped on a manhole cover and the mosque next to me burst out calling the faithful. Up the road more mosques called. An old man with a young boy answered.

Another run …

… another thousand thoughts. With each step a cascade of well-being. What to write, what to say? Just this then: had coffee with Venus and co today, the moon was rather late. And from time to time I pushed my plop-flop running to a plap-flap; by the end it was the lightest plip-flip 94kg can do, feeling this perfect. Really. I had a nice run you see.


Out on my rich streets. If I haven’t run a medal into my legs, I‘ve sure run joy into them. 0432 old car leaves trail of unburnt petrol. 0433 car lights go off, young lady gets out. She: Are you crazy?- Yes, are you?-I’ve been working-What work?-Waitress-*pause*-Bum hours-You’re jogging early?-Comrades-Oh, ok. Uh-oh that *pause. In my dark days I’d’ve asked for an espresso. Now I get richer affirmation.