running during the pandemic
It is not to allowed to move around between social contexts but between sceneries of solitude. How does it feel to travel about hundred kilometres per week but always returning home and never leaving?
A monthly photo log
Returning to run after a week of quarantine.
Usually I would run by myself but for the first time I am meeting friends for a joint run. The forest is the new meeting place. At a particularly busy spring day on a steep downhill slope we observe a clash between mountain bikers enjoying the speed and a group of walkers exploring the narrow trail. Swearwords flying through the air. I am sure they all went home, happy about the adventure.
Someone introduced me to a tracking app. I am running double the amount of kilometres a week ever since because I am afraid I might lose the competition against my last week’s self.
I wanted to run to the beach but the road was blocked off by sheep. They were too scared of me so in order not to scare them with speed I went to the other direction.
Three seasons, three paths.
Three seasons, same path.
Recently, I have seen more deer than humans.
Did I mention all the deer?
I did actually leave my place in October to stay in Florence until December. These were my morning runs.
Masks are now mandatory to be worn while running in the inner city circle. Is this the end of the last priviledge of the runner, the idealised healthy, steeled, perfect machine-like human, the dream of all insurance companies and employers alike?
It is icy, it snows, I fell at least two times within the last two weeks. Yet, I am not stopping. Which other reasons to leave the house anyway.
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