When a professor told me once that I have a distinctive style in my writing, I gave him a strange look. When my friend told me “you should be a writer” I told her “yeah, right”. I may have not made myself a writer, nevertheless I managed to write a book. About my travels, needless to say. I am now preparing another one on running. You write for what you know.
What else I am doing which I am forgetting? But of course. I take photos.
Traveling should be compulsory. Something like the military service for men and women. In order to start your life you must cross the borders. Of your country of your prejudices of your views of your upbringing. To see how the “others” are. To learn what they are thinking, what they believe in, what makes them laugh, what makes them mad, how they do things. A world with traveled people is a better place. With less hostility, less resentment, more empathy, more understanding, more friends.
The idea of travel always excited me. It seems like I have seen a couple of places.
Marathon race. Long, tough, merciless. It hurts. A lot. It can kill you if you don’t show the proper respect. And yet. As if in group insanity marathon participation is booming worldwide. What makes somebody what to run 42k?
There are as many reasons as runners, but for is like in peculiar way, meeting with my own self. The loner meets with the athlete, who like the former is there from the very beginning. Alone, you and nobody else you try you fall you rise you finally cross the line. And you beat the hardest opponent one can possibly get. You.
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