10 weeks, no sex, that was the deal. But there was nothing against...say...running.
It rained all night last night. I was pulled from my dreams in the middle of the night byh the sound of heavy rain smashing into the tin roof above me. Fortunately there were no leaks to spoil a night of proper rest.
Yesterday afternoon I went out for my first run on the continent of Africa. After work, the mild rain held everyone under the unfinished building. Past a certain threshold of patience, one of the workers, Xlani, said he's going to run home. My "runner-y" senses tinkled and I asked if I could join him. I went back to the volunteer house, pulled on a hoodie and laced up my running shoes.
Xlani told me he used to do trackand field when he was my age, long distance specifically, like me. Runners all over the world connect with one another, we've all experienced the glory of racing against time and setting new limits of our bodies. Although my run with Xlaniwasn't long, from his smooth stride and rhythmic swing of the arms, Xlani was no average. Down the "street", around the corner, a few more turns brought us to the end of our "marathon" in the rain; the mild rain has now turned into heavy rain.
I found my way onto the main road where it's safer to run on. The heavy rain smashed my face, by now my cotton hoodie is completely soaked.
Rain makes you think doesn't it? I was thinking about the lives of the people in the shacks I ran by; do they perceive a runner in rain the same way I do? Do they have the same questions I seek answer for? I continued down the road.
Now and then a car passes by and bring up the splash as it sped down the road. it's so easy to tap the gas pedal and after a while you've gotten from point A to point B. So how about the runner's journey without a gas pedal or a windshield or a metal cover above the head|?
Cars is to runners, as tin shacks is to the homeless.
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