Blues

I once wrote a detailed blueprint of a reconstructed one whole day. Instead of just 24 hours, what if one whole day consists of 48 hours, with 36 hours of it daylight. I was 22, already frazzled juggling lab sessions, thesis, tests, family, sports and friends. I needed a break and I spent the whole day conjuring up an ideal one whole day for me. 

 If there's one thing I learned, is that time will never be enough if you don't think it's enough for you. The concept of time is as vague as the concept of happiness. Everybody wants to be happy, but what's happy? Where is that place? Happiness, like time, is a state of mind. Being grateful is the way to go. Grateful, for the time you still have on this world, grateful, for being able to do the things you do.

 I have been busy lately. I'll admit, I don't like it. It messes my routine, and as much as I try to keep my workouts at the right time and frequency, I'm happy that I get them done at all. Whatever I missed, I have to let it go. It's hard, but I'm not so anal about it. Not anymore. Especially when time's too short to be frustrated. A good dinner with dad, who was really nice to help me fix my shabby sofa bed for my new pad, was a much better option than to leave him in the mercy of maggi cup noodles just so I could have my cardio snort. I told him about my work schedules, the demands of my project, etc. We'd be running the Siemens run together and I think I want to run side by side with him, IF I could maintain his pace. He's a speedier runner than me.

 Monday I went for a nice run. Nice as in, I can't remember how long it was, and how far I went. I can't even estimate the time and the distance. I was in a haze, thinking about nothing important, my mind blacking out the stressful stuff. I could feel the sun at the back of my neck and through the sleeves of my tshirt. The weather was warm and stuffy, like an oven, and I was the chicken pie, fluffy on the outside but frazzled really, inside. A good fluffy, though. I like it when life throws you a little bit of lemons. You get to appreciate the lemonades better when it's all your own instead of from the 7-11 (bad jokeeee).

 Bumped into a girl who used to be my junior in high school. We used to run together, when we were training for cross country. Those were the days were 'suicides repeats' were really suicidal, and tempo runs simply means you run hard until you puke... and then you slow down your pace. This is where I learned to put target holes on the back of other runners. Instantly, the whole world just freezes, and I think of nothing else but to move in for the kill.

 I love it. And I can't get enough.

 

 A raw poem found:

 

I need a calve massage;
to drain my lactic acid the fuck out;
you taste like brown sugar – and for a moment;
while your breath is hot on my neck, warm on my toes;
I forgot all about her;
when I’m running today.