I don’t know if I have mentioned this before but I am kinda running now.
Kinda, because it’s not yet an incredibly regular event due to multiple travel interruptions. But it has occured once every two or three weeks, which as anyone who has known me longer than ten minutes will know, is sort of a miracle. They should send a cardinal to investigate or something.
This all started after I gave in to the persuasion of my H2B and let myself be dragged huffing and puffing about 2km. And really, it nearly killed me. But for some reason I have repeated it since.
The Brussels canal passes right behind Rasmus’ apartment. Don’t be imagining beautiful quaint tree-lined canals a la Amsterdam or Bruges – Brussels’ one canal is a big dirty industrial thing with heaps of potential but clearly no one to currently love on it.
We run here. I like it better than the beautiful big park near my house which we ran in once, because despite the cracked pavements and dodgy-looking men hanging about in disused lots, we’re not competing for pavement space with 500 other runners and I can kid myself that I’m actually a pretty respectable runner.
There’s a bridge about 1km away from the apartment that we have been running to. Then there’s this second bridge, that is about another km on and it has always been this illusion in my mind… I have been so tired after running to the first bridge that it seems an unattainable goal.
Well yesterday we’re running towards the first bridge, nearly there, and I’m actually feeling ok at that point and so I said gasped “so exactly how far is this next bridge?” and when we reached the first bridge we kept on running.
Reaching that second bridge felt really good. Actually that’s a lie, by that point I was wondering just how stupid I had to be to have thought it was a good idea. But the sun had set and the sky was beautiful and from that vantage point the canal actually looked almost pretty.
By the time we got home I thought I was going to die. I was about as red as a tomato (for the next two hours too…) and didn’t catch my breath for about half an hour. But when I finally did stop thinking my lungs were going to explode, I felt good.
Proud.
A 5km run may not sound like much but it’s something I would never have imagined myself doing. Ever. No really. It wasn’t in my life plan. But I did it. And I’m still alive to tell the tale. Which makes me happy.
