In the past days we had a strong “Libeccio” (south-west wind) with a temperature of about 15° at least, and right now we’ve been hurled under zero, with a great nonchalance.

Yesterday, December 16, was definitely one of the coldest days in the whole winter: dry, northern wind, the sun sending pins with the carrot/stick’s strategy. I got home from work with a strong feeling of merciless cold through my bones, as if I was standing still in the middle of nowhere surrounded by snow. While I come in, I think that even in a million years I could even take into consideration the option of a good run. No way. But this awful thought lasts just a few minutes: after that, I find myself whirling happily my coat, the bag and all the onion layers on the bed, getting ready for a cold run. I was trying to act fast, just not to think twice about my decision.

Grab the running clothes and I dash off to the bathroom.

The biggest dilemma was if I had to wear a t-shirt on the top or just a vest, considering it was a coldest day, but also considering that I can’t stand to be too warm (while my right eye was looking up above, with the typical Dorian’s style-see SCRUBS-thinking to wear just the top under the fleece). So I decide for this solution:

top+vest+fleece (all pretty tight), leggings 3/4.

It seems outside was about 2°, but the clear perception was definitely around 0° or less. Nonetheless, and it happens everytime, there’s that familiar feeling when you get ready for running: reality turns into something even more personalized  and the inner temperature got higher without an explanation, as everything was kinda steady HTML.

Start to get dressed carefully, especially for shoes and the laces (I can’t even think of the image of a pair of untied laces! Gosh, only curses from that point on). Shoes seems brand new, so flexible and steady I feel them . I let the wire of the earpones to slide along my backbone, a bit slowly, till they reach the small pocket bottom, with a delicate stretching movement , I reach for the iPod, I connect it and grab the keys.

Ready.

There’s just another thing to do for me: going to the honey jar (chestnut honey-good for cold and low temperatures), dipping the teaspoon and tasting that nectar, just leaving it a little bit on my tongue for the very first minutes of the run. In a way, to leave it on the tongue, is something I thought to give me relief on the first friction with the ground: it’s a kind of distraction for the mind.

Got to the boardwalk while I start  iTunes, setting the Nike+GPS, while cold sweeps literally almost blow me away. I try to shelter with my back, offering as a sacrifice the area between the base of my neck and the base of my head: that candid and innocent place where everything can hurts you.

“Starting Workout” says the woman voice that counts for me every Km. There’s so much sun, it’s 2pm, that time of the day when good sensations are amplified and so I run. The first thought that comes to my mind is: “Today is a good day for running”.

I see myself  from outside, while I chew my honey: it’s that sticky feeling mixed with Karite”s  butter cream on my lips, on the corners of my lips, where I have the bad habit to pass the tongue, so that eventually I got small painful cuts. Very well done, girl! Fortunately, chestnut honey and Karite’s butter cream aren’t that bad.

The same way, pretty smooth, the first km is gone: actually, the fastest ever. I don’t know why. Then, I pay for this joyful sensation with cramps from the 2nd till the 4th km: I wonder why I had cramps only in the last 3 runs, and not before. Beyond the fact I may need to assume more potassium and magnesium.

“You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine…” I say to myself as I was listening to “voices” in my head. Actually, it seems that running could amplify this inner dialogue: I was talking about that with Reuven, saying that is kinda meditation. Yes, that could be the case, the alibi:-)

You see that you’ll be fine, I was saying, and in fact after a few minutes cramps are gone. Streets are getting to life after the afternoon siesta with people walking their dogs, hooded people at the bus stops, training of young guys at the near soccer field. In the meantime, I “smoke” the asphalt easily. After the 8th km I simply skate on it, with my basin moving free and happy, with a pace that isn’t too wide, but definitely stubborn.

I start to think that I can make it to get the longest run, 11.2 Km. At least that distance. The beginner’s head takes over reality and I also think:” Not a big deal to reach those 42something  kms. It’s such a pity to stop today..” My mind goes to those “perfect days” with my bike, when you feel so right, when my dad “The Gino” says that he goes so well “he could easily break the bike in two”. Yes: an effective image.

After I burned out the personal guinness of 11.2 kms, I start to think about 15, 15 kms…And so, now, why not stopping at the half marathon amount of kms? Just to get there and just to put a milestone of my running.

While I’m into these haunting thoughts, I realize the sun is setting down, the twilight is here with the consequence of a sudden colder temperature that I feel immediately on my legs. I try to auto-cast a spell on me, forcing my head to get to the 20th km, even if I’d to get there simply exhausted, on the edge of my life.

What’s 17? What’s 20? The 17 will  still be 20, even if it’s called 17…(cit. Billy Shake).

Can’t fight against Shakespeare, can’t burned out these kms without a noticeable sign. 3 precious kms. I decide to sip them not in a hurry, I save them for the next time. I’m going to eat them on the next meal, with an empty stomach ready to host them.

17. That’s it for now.

B.

I’ve bought my very first book by Haruki Murakami on October 13 2009, english version, from Barnes & Noble. There was a guy on Twitter, Masinutoscana, who was talking about him and on that specific book, with a great enthusiasm. You know when you hear about a book that you clearly understand it’s a brand new masterpiece or it’s a classic one must have? It was that kind of feeling with Murakami.

“What I Talk About when I Talk About Running” tells about Running, of course, though not only about that. Running is for me one of the farthest activities I’ve ever fancied about, for the following reasons:

I’m not able, physically, to do that

Cannot Endure it

My Fate on that under the form of a Bag of Potatoes

I admit that with any other activity I felt so unappropriate, really. Just give me to walk for hours, on a climb, under a deadly sun in August, under the hail that slashes my face, with the mud that makes me slipper on the ground; or a bike along the “whitest road” ever known by a human being, that make me call names of God all the time, with the coldest weather that turns air into stalactites making holes in my lungs. All of this. I accept it. It can be: in these horrible conditions, I still can see my role in the world, though I can’t see the reason.

Everything but running. Not that, please!

Running has always been on that highest pedestal, a “Mutaforma” (see Fringe) between horror and terror, done by amazing people that, gently sliding on cement, on grass, on sand, are definitely so “real and convinced” in doing what they do, even the real beginners, in their clumsy shapes.

Then a simple question: “Why them and not Me?” I guess this question kept silent for years, But now I finally got rid of this “fear”. Mostly, the matter was about not to be able to do the most natural thing of this world, after walking: running.

On Monday I got up at 5.10am, without the alarm clock (never use it as I hate it), and it wasn’t horrific at all. At 5.30am I started my naive running around big buildings of the suburb, wrapped in the dark and deep silence, while the air at my mouth turned into smoke. Humid, cool and alone: that was the scene. That was the scene I was fancied about an early morning run. I was thinking of how beautiful was the feeling to be the only one around, at least in my perspective, with all the space at my disposal: I was rich! Usually feeling as in a cage, surrounded by too many people: always someone on the horizon. So, feeling alone was kinda to be the King of the World. And the ironical thing is that when you’re alone, it’s impossible to feel alone: seems that being alone makes you feel a new balance, taking away all the worthless stuff.

Honestly I wasn’t alone: blackbirds were having their breakfast with XL worms, picked here and there. They were anywhere: on the sidewalk, in the middle of the street, on the benches, on the trees, standing still or flying quickly on a worm. Then, all of a sudden, they gathered  symmetrical, as if they could hear a call: there were sunlights perking from the clouds, creating weird lights and shadows. While running I was gazing at the noble stands of the blackbirds, their casual garments but classy, as if they wore a waistcoat, their look to the sun, the steady beak and the breeze moving their feathers…Got it!

“City of Angels“

The scene where the angels come together at dawn to salute the Dawn, standing still….

It’s 6.30am, the first noises, the first people around, the first cars passing by.

The first sun of the first dawn, while I land at the entrance.

Pant. Smile.

B.

After a few hours of sleep, a very rare fact for me that I usually touch the pillow and I fall asleep suddenly, I say to myself that in the afternoon I should have gone to run a little bit. I think that 35 minutes, like the last time, could be ok, in order to keep up the pace with this miracle I’m living with: from the very first time when I ran 5 minutes or so, in a totally chaotic mode, with no breath at all that I couldn’t even think, slowly, step by step, I fought this anguish about running. I did just a little auto-violence on me and, though I still run like a bag of potatoes, at least I’m on the path to learn the art of patience in small steps. Smallest, I’d say, to be honest.

Bad weather, with a clear tendence to get worse in a few minutes, with wee rain coming up and a suspect wind that is already blowing. Early afternoon, just after lunch, no one around, cool temperature that I think to wear my sweatshirt, without risking to drown in a sea of sweat. During these 2 weeks of jogging, I realized that to afford to run my way, I need to start with a fast walking, at least 1 minute or so: kinda soft training to use as an anaesthetic, in order to appear moderatley happy. Instead of 1 minute I do 5 minutes, so that I can start exactly at 2 o’clock pm. Weather is definitely getting worse and the soft wind turns into a real “serious” wind: Great! I think. Then I start running with a certain easyness, together with my playilist from punk to jazz, just in case I need different inputs in different moments. Oh, how much I know myself!

5 minutes, in a very easy mood, in perfect harmony with the whole world, that puts an idiot smile on my face. On the other side of the road, along a grassy side of a small river, I glance an old man with a beautiful hunting dog, brown and white, with long fluttering hair. The dog just stops while I’m passing before him: he just turns into a statue, staring at me. I smile back, thinking of how beautiful he is, with his majesty up above, from my lower point of view: like a noble dog on a glamour magazine cover, beside his also noble owner, by a huge victorian mansion, somewhere in the UKshire. I keep on smiling, while the owner tries to move the dog with him, but the dog stands still, as he was staring at a weird or unusual event, or as he could feel something coming un in a few seconds. Or maybe he was thinking I’m running like a lame dog?

While this random thoughts whirl in my mind, I suddenly realize that I’ve started this run a bit too fast. So I decide to slower the pace. From this moment on it was just a matter of seconds what happened next. It was kinda action like Mission Impossible: I smile at the dog that now seems clearly to feel something wrong it’s going to happen, I look ahead, I go so slow that I can harldy lift the feet from the ground, I stumble onto a mix of mud+gravel and my perspective becomes flat horizontal and vertical at the same time. While I fall down, I think that it’s really me that is going down on the ground, that  probably I’ll be hurt, and the first reaction is: “Well, nevermind!” Frightening.

Then I’m  flat on the ground, music stopped and I think:

What the Fuck – See, what a dumb that I am – I was too slow – What about the iPod? – Very bad impression if the old man with the dog is still loking at me – Is everything fine? – My hand is wounded – Let’s get up – The dog was right (Smile).

I turn on the iPod again, check my hand covered with gravel and blood, a quick estimate to realize the knee is ok, a bit aching with some blood but ok, and I smile thinking that my tactic of falling down on the ground is getting better through the ages. When I was a kid, I used to fall down easily, hurting knees and hands every single time: I was instead very keen on protecting my teeth, my precious teeth. Maybe because my parents kept on repeating me: “Mind your teeth, or we should ask for a loan to fix them”…..Kinda “imprinting” I grow with. It worked.

So, I can run after the fall and I will: it would be a pity to waste this cool weather ! I start again my run, happier than before: I know it sounds weird. I see myself from outside: a dumb girl, with 2 squint braids, satisfied, running with a hand and knee covered with blood, with a odd feeling that this small pain can help to deviate my mind from the effort of running. Well, I can say this fall, this little aching in my body and this grey road that invites me to go ahead, it makes me feel pretty good. I beg for a wee rain, just to wash my hand from the gravel and blood, and tadah! Here comes the rain, that also refresh me from the weak sun of a bit before. Great! I go along a wide avenue of an industrial area, while many people come out from their offices, workers and suited managers, stuck in the rush hour of the traffic jam. I think how great is to slide along the road while it rains gently, wishing this road get longer step by step. As I feel good.

The iPod’s random ends on “Live High” by Jason Mraz and “Personal Jesus” as a cover by Old Lemon Juice.

My Ego explodes in joy:-)

B.

Sunday Morning, 8.30.

The usual walk with Cucciolo after a lazy waking up in the fog, protected by my hooded sweatshirt, that it says something like: “Right, I’m still quite sleepy” but it also says: “I feel so energetic”. Cucciolo eagerly sways along his usual path that, in this period, is full of smells by dogs on heat; so, for any reason, he could think to deviate from it, obviously. In a mechanical and careful way, counting every single inch, he traces every single usual spot several times per day. Along the way, we meet Mrs.Anna and her dog Briciola (Crumble), an aged dog, more or less the same as Cucciolo, a bit overweight because of too many cookies, but with a smart and cute face. Anna knows me from ages: in the past we would meet at early morning and during lunch break, when I had to walk Cucciolo when he was alone at home. We would talk a lot, about my job, about her life: you know, that kind of relationship established between two or more people who own a dog. In the end, easily these people turn into a pleasant habit during the day, and eventually every single talk is kinda zen philosophy or also pulpits to discuss about politics and religion.

While Anna is busy giving cookies to Cucciolo and Briciola, here they come , we saw them approaching, a couple of Anna’s friends, two ladies of about 60/70 years old, this time without dogs, as they’re heading to church to attend the very first Mass of the day (Oh Gosh). They stopped with us just to have a few words. Then, all of a suddden, the smartest and devoutest lady, while smiling, says: “I always find that you talk so much…You look like those mommies at city parks with their kids…!” Well, there are some moments when I clearly realized that I’m not totally sure of what I’m about to say, if I’m to make a gaffe, if my comment is to be untimely of if I’m to be too aggressive, but I was definitely feeling that was one of those moments. In a fraction of a second I feel it coming,  but I can’t react to it. So I say with a 32teeth smile and with my index finger lifted up as if I was a pain-in-the-neck teacher: “…But with the only difference that animals are cutier than kids…!” OH-MY-GOD! How could I dare to speak like this??:-) Anna, that is always by my side, especially when I’m involved in such issues, because I make her laugh a lot, suddenly starts to laugh out loud while saying to her friend: “Here you are…See this girl?…So rude, uh?” I turned my eyes to this lady too, that is now the Scream Mask: “Nooooooo…How can you say like this, Ms.?….” I was thinking that she may has had the same reaction also in case I had offended her mother. All in all, one could see that I was just making a joke, and that it wasn’t my intention to start a serious discussion. “Well, I don’t like kids so much, and if I have to compare with animals…The competition is zero as I prefer animals indeed…”

“But Why??…So, take into conisderation the chance you meet the right guy in the future, so you don’t want to create a family with him, at least to have just 1 baby?…” I answer right after: “Well, I’ve got a guy and we think the same way about this: we are not interested to create a family with kids, We may instead put together a farm with different animals like horses, cows, dogs…”. Then the lady, quite exhausted:-) finds the strenght to whisper these words: “But…A couple without children..What’s the point? What’s the point for a whole life without any children??…” I just laugh and I say: “Oh Mrs. in the whole world we are more than 6 billions of people: I’d say that the fellas out there should thank me for not overcrowding our Planet Earth with other kids!! Are you joking?…”:-D Then, this lady, as if she was made blind from some mean entity, I see that she look for her silver crucifix around her neck.

Then Anna, with teasr from laughing in her eyes, in order to destroy the reputation of Simone’s family, just take some minutes to explain to this lady who I am, where I live, who Simone is and his relatives form ages, and it feels that the whole family could have been swept away from the so called “good people”. I feel like damn’ hail that everybody hates:-) Then she suddenly get who I am and the whole Simone’s family, seeing before her eyes also his family tree, and as a last, desperate try, she gaze at me and says: “But, if Simone has any siblings, do you mean that his mother  is condemned to not have the joy of a nephew or niece??!…” Unacceptable:-D Eventually I find myself acting the same as in some Scrubs’ episodes, when J.D. is lost in his fantasy world, so that I frown the right eyebrow looking above, stay still some precious seconds to make some expectations, then I go down again on the lady’s face and I answer: “Well…I guess you’re right..Mmmh, that’s life..:-)”. Then I laugh out loud again.

Yes, I’m The Malignant who crossed your road during this holy Sunday, maybe to prove yor faith, maybe for a venial sin committed yesterday. Who knows? We’ll never know.

The fact is that Anna and I stayed there laughing while the two ladies slowly trottered to church, still talking to me with words like: “Don’t say that, Ms: you’ll have loads of regrets…Think twice…”. Well, I would expect to hear different words like : “May the Lord be with you, May God help you in redenction”. I was disappointed. They weren’t professional preachers, obviously.

These are the Sundays I like best.

B.

Huge somethings in the middle of nowhere.

Buried feelings that still burns out.

Worthless memories that still haunt us in an everending struggle to defy them.

Let’s go through this hazy labyrinth carved deeply like stone of historical walls.

Breathing all that crazy stuff, that stingy venom around and bloody whispers.

Afterwards you turn back and the only thing you see is a confused mass and a clear path to begin

B.

“The Sea isn’t friend of men, never been. Better to say the Sea is friend of men’s unstableness.”

Joseph Conrad

ps It’s a personal translation from my text in italian:-)

We’re just in the end, that’s simple.

In the past months the PsicoDwarf Berlusconi had the “good manner” to hide his out of the blue ideas (to say the least). But today, with this sentence, I gues we’re quickly reaching the bottom.

It’s not about politics: it is just called “suicide” and a clear apology of the myth of the Fascist Superman.

So, just “Speak for Yourself” and of course a big F*** Off”

B.

Make Somebody Happy! Order your copy:-)

I know these are hard times; but here you can find real friends:-D

B.

B.

“VALIDATION” by Kurt Kuenne, a positive and beautiful short movie about the power of one of the easiest things in the world: a smile.

And here a brand new idea started by the blog Superforest about a contribution on a very special project of the Millenniu Seed Bank.

Smile & Join Up, folks!

B.