After several months of running, I realised that not all the roads are the same. The regular reader knows that around us, the landscape is as flat as a pancake and the wind usually blows from south-west. In other words, the speed on each road is pretty predictable, depending only on the direction I pick to leave the house.
But there are exceptions. Like this old narrow Road about 2 km away from our house. It is a stretch of asphalt about 1 mile long that used to connect two tiny villages. Nowadays it is only used for local traffic (tractors) and as a cycling path. For some reason, every time I hit this particular road, I run faster, easier, I feel no pain, just happiness as all the endorphins start coming to my head.
This morning I couldn’t sleep. I went to the bathroom and instead of returning to my warm bed, something made me to dress up and leave the house. Even though last night I came home from my rainy run all soaked and tired, I had to run again. I ran to my Road. The sun was barely up and I was all alone. The feeling was the one of unlimited freedom.
I did not want to be in any other place, any other time. Just here, me and the Road, the two of us. I had no plans, no time schedule, just my empty head watching the world waking up into yet another bright day.