Sometimes nothing, if I'm honest, my mind goes blank - closely followed by "when will this be over?" - but for a man who never really liked running before, I'm really getting into it. Of course, since school, where we were forced to do cross-country, my running has been confined to the treadmill which I thought was better, given that I could watch TV at the same time. But since moving to our new apartment and discovering the nearby park, I've also discovered the joys of actual, "proper" running.
The heat and the humidity don't help but I need to do something to try to keep my weight under control and the nearby gym is, to be honest with you, not worth the money. So, running it is. Around the park, dodging the other joggers (even runners move slowly here) exploring the special jogging lanes and routes that the park has installed. It's not the longest of runs - I'm not ready for the HK marathon (yet) - but it's a good couple of kilometres with some significant uphill bits, so it's a decent workout.
The thing I enjoy most about it - aside from the feeling that something this painful must be doing me some good - is simply the fact that I can run. I'm 46 and a half now - I realised a few years ago that I'm not getting any younger - but I can still fit into trousers I bought over 25 years ago (don't ask me why I still have trousers I bought 25 years ago - I don't clear out my wardrobes often, okay?) and I'm still physically able to run. It doesn't cripple me, it doesn't bring on a heart attack or a stroke; I am capable of running. My arms and legs work; I can feel the ache in my muscles because I can feel my muscles.
What I think about when I think about running? How lucky I am to be able to run.
*with apologies to Murakami
