2. A Few Dates

  Although the first running attempt was - to put it mildly - mediocre and my legs mutinied the next day, I decided to give it a few more chances. I would go out, I thought, two times a week. So, every Thursday and Tuesday, I would suit up and sneak out for my dates.

    What did I manage to accomplish during these sessions, except for nothing? Well ...
    The time did not get better. In fact, on some of the occasions it was even worse than the first time.
    The sniper was still there, shooting at me constantly... but somewhat less. To be honest, I bet he got bored of shooting me and he became a bit complacent. I can imagine him waiting in his tower, a cigarette butt in the corner of his mouth, talking to himself when I would come into his sight: 'Damn, this guy again! Some people never learn. For fuck's sake man, it's like shooting fish in a barrel! Let me make it more interesting: I won't shoot your lungs anymore'. And thus, the lungs started to be fine, but the legs would still need some serious walking to recover.
    The feeling at the end of the race remained unchanged: almost invariably, I hated running, with one exception or two, when I f*** hated it!
    
    On the bright side, I started to expand my music. It was, who else, my wife who educated the layman.
        ‘Try Spotify. It has infinite music, you can make playlists on artists, albums, songs, whatever you like. I use it all the time’.
        ‘I tried it once but I didn’t like it, the songs came randomly, with commercials in between, I couldn’t control it’
        ‘That was the free version. We have a subscription for the family now, you also have an account’
        ‘We do?’
        ‘Yes, for five years already’
    Had I only known that, what a music erudite I’d have become!

    What else did I do? Nothing notable on the running front, but crucial in defining my identity, at least one of a certain sort. If I still had any doubts about my ... gender preferences, they were clearly dispelled. The test was blatantly simple: when running, I would often come to a point when my legs became heavy, making my body sag and almost collapse. I would drag myself harder and harder until the sniper would take mercy on me and make me walk again. But, no matter how strenuous that was, whenever I encountered any women on my way, I would straighten my body, suck my belly, trying to look confident as if running was a piece of cake. And I am talking here about any kind of women: young, old, thin, fat, all sort. Now, that was tiring sometimes, thanks God I didn’t encounter many. Needless to say, when I encountered men, zero fucks were given about my posture.

    After six dates that ended up with me hating running, running retaliated and decided that it hated me as well. One morning I woke up with my back stiff and in pain. Let's skip details like L4/L5 vertebrae being stuck together (they've been like that for more than 20 years), but the effect was that I couldn’t put on any socks, underwear or trousers. Luckily I was working from home, so those garments were not that used anyway.
    Running would be put on hold for a while. No lost love, if you’d asked me then ...