My first run

 

I started running late.

A little more than three years ago I went for my very first run.

I remember standing on the doorsteps puffing on my third cigarette while sipping my breakfast coffe. A dear friend had come to visit and was trying to convince me to go running with him.

I really didn’t fancy going running out one direction and then back, for miles, without anywhere really to go, like a headless chicken.

Years of chess games have rooted a strong sense of competitiveness between my friend and I. I repeatedly tried to minimise the fact that he could run for such distances, while I was bound to 5 minutes autonomy before having to stop for shortage of breath or pain in my side, or to light another cigarette. My friend knew exactly how to have the best of me. He started teasing me in such way that I couldn’t pull back from that morning run.

Together with another friend we set off running for a few miles along the river and back.

To my surprise it wasn’t as bad as I though.

Im still thankful to my friend for setting a very slow pace that day, one that I could keep up with without panting, one with which I could actually enjoy my run.

Not sure why, but that was the start of my running. Two days after I was looking on a map to find some new trail to explore. Not to mention that short after I gave up smoking as I now had something better to do with my lungs!

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