it’s 6:55. I’m running

21:30 last night: I have to bring my car to the garage but I’m in the middle of a good conversation so I don’t feel like it. I decide to do it really early the next day and run back home.

06:20. The combined sounds of an alarm clock, thunder and rain wake me from my sleep. Already regretting my choice, I put on my clothes and running shoes and drive to the garage

06:50. Get out of the car. I Check my shoelaces. I look up at the dark clouds split apart by lightning, raindrops plunging on my face. Finally, I look right in front of me, staring at nothing in particular and start running.

It’s 06:55. I’m running.

07:10. I’m soaked. It’s quite obvious that clothes that are supposed to let sweat out also let rain in. At least I think that’s rain running down my back.

07:30. The clouds are slowly opening up. There’s a tempting road to my left that leads straight to my house. I ignore it.

07:40. It’s getting harder. Not only because my legs are running out of fuel but also because my stomach is slowly collapsing and with it my entire posture. I forbid myself to run like an 80-year old and speed up.

07:49. Home. 12.19km in just under an hour, soaking wet and hungry as hell. There are worse ways to start a day. Lots of them actually.

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