I started running about a month ago.

Or rather, i started a bit more serious running then. Before that time, I tried to jog as often as possible. But that usually meant nothing short of a struggle to put on the jogging shoes and get myself out of the door. I didn't jog very long. Probably less than 5 kms and somewhere between 30 to 35min. And more than often I had to drag myself to the end of the trip.The muscles hurt, stomach cramped, legs turned into concrete. I tried to keep up, although halfheartedly. I knew there was supposed to be pain.

But then.

A late afternoon in July, I began my normal route of a jogging trip: along the side walk by the railway tracks, up then down under the road bridge, following a gentle slope towards the park. I jogged around the pile of road construction materials, then passed the low hanging metal chain that locked between two rocks acting as some kind of gate to the park. The grass was of deep saturated color of green. Maybe because it rained the night before. Not a person in sight. Just the narrow footpath, leading to the darker, layered tunnel of over grown trees and bushes along the river.

This is really my favourite part of the trip. The dirt footpath is much softer than the normal gray road asphalt. It goes up and down, swings left and right. You can hear the sound of water, and the air is, well, the air differs from time to time. After the rain you can smell washed leaves, mixed with denser, murky, and slightly bitter scent of the soil. I tried to regulate my breathing by following a particular rhythm. The body felt to be working at a nominal state: the motion of my legs flowed smoothly. I was not tired at all, as I normally would be coming up to this part of the trip. Everything became, natural, even easy. I jogged on, up that ascending bend in the road, then down the slightly steeper other side, across the narrow wooden bridge, and came to the other side of the river. Facing me is the steep uphill slope that connects the bottom of the river valley to the road level at the top. A metal handrail, painted black, lines the slope. To its right, the wooden steps and left, the much walked and jogged trailed with small protruding rocks. I eyed the tree half way up the slope as my target - I always stopped before somewhere at the bottom of the stairs and walked my way up. Since today the body machine was working well, I thought, that tree would be my new goal.

I jogged up the slope. I came to the tree. I passed the tree. The rhythm was still there. Each time the foot hit the soil, it bounced back and pushed its way towards the top. I was sweating more now, breathing more heavily. But I marched on. The part of the slope after the tree seemed utterly, not steep. I swung my body slightly to follow the incline of the slope. Before I knew, I was at the top.

So that’s how it all began.



photo taken at the location, almost exactly 2 years ago. M6+Noctilux