do you still run?

often when i meet people i haven't seen in a while i get asked the question 'so do you still run?'. sometimes i think why they pose this inquiry - do i look like i don't, don't they have nothing else to ask me, are they merely interested whether my obsession of over 10 years has suddenly ceased  - hard to say, but the answer is always  'of course'.

i'm obviously way too far gone to ever reply anything else than that, as in if it is up to me i know i will keep on running as long as i can; and maybe this is why i find the question somewhat strange.  because i am so used to it, because for me there is no other way than running practically daily that i sometimes forget that not everybody has same kind of things they repeat day after day after day. 

and this is not to say that running is always fun. most of the time it is, yes, but there are also times when i run just out of habit; i think this is normal and i don't consider it a lack of motivation or anything like that. but even at times like that i still rather go running than not; the feeling i still get from it even when it's not at its best is better than the feeling i would get would i not run. 

in fact i don't even think about it like that. i don't wake up in the morning and think if i should go running or not; i honestly do not remember asking myself this question unless it has been a case where i have scheduled myself a day off and still thought if i should go running after all. on a normal day i run, simple as that, and how i feel about it has very little to do with it.

and this i think is one of the greatest habits i have crafted for myself. so yes, i do still run, whether it rains or shines or i'm little bit tired or bored with the same route. i run because i'm a runner and i'm a runner because i want to be one. and i want to be one because running is awesome.

Girls' Night Out

O didn't know what to do with herself so she stepped into a tram traveling on a looped line through the city. It was a spur of a moment kind of decision but she immediately took likening to it; and not the least because for once she would know what she was getting into and could be certain that she would end up in the same place where she started. It was a refreshing feeling and one O had not experienced in a while, so when she ascended the two steps into the vehicle she felt better already.

There was a free spot next to the window. It was the type where you had two seats next to each other and although normally she would have strongly preferred a single seat where you had no possibility of ending up in an awkward situation - having to have to ask the person next to you to give way in the event of wanting to get out before they did - she decided it did not matter now as she had nowhere in particular to go. In fact her current state of mind gave O reason to believe she would be sitting in the carriage for quite a while. Quite possibly until the tram would stop running even, so by that time the odds were that the seat next to her would be empty again.

O sat down, nudging herself close to the wall so that she could feel the even surface supporting her, placed her bag on her lap and looked out of the window. The doors of the tram then closed accompanied with that familiar beeping sound and the tram budged forward, its electrical humming in perfect sync with the sensation of sliding forward. The afternoon sun had already dropped quite low and shone straight into her eyes making her squint, but O knew she didn't have her sunglasses with her. This irritated O a bit but then again, a lot of things irritated her these days so she paid no particular attention to this annoyance; it just slipped in and out of her mind like a fish that makes a jump out of the water to catch a fly. Instead she tried to look away from the direction of the sun and thus soothe her annoyance; and if O noticed the similarity between that small moment and the larger metaphor of her life she actively chose not to think about it.

The tram rolled onwards and O in it, through the streets and around the curves, interrupted only by tram stops and the occasional traffic lights. She very much liked the feeling of being transported from this moment to the next; O imagined how her existence moved through the fabric of time and space. None of this you could have read from her face though as she stared out of the window almost feverishly, completely cut off from everyone else in the tram. The truth was she could have not bore to meet the eyes of another human being right now as it might have well been the needle that poked through a balloon, the thin layer of whatever that kept her together. And as O really didn't want to explode there, leak all over the filthy tram floor and have people looking the other way in a shared awkwardness, she stared out into nothing and everything, and the soundtrack of the tram moving forward gave her something to focus on.

The scenery changed outside the window and O recognized all of it. It was true that she had been away for a long time but things had not changed that much; in a human lifetime nothing ever does. You can say it does, you can even think it does; but it doesn't. The core remains the same and this applies to everything and everyone, and if you say you have changed you are either a liar or a fool.

She, of all people, should know this.

The tram stopped and she saw a man and a woman stepping in. Maybe they were a couple, maybe not, O really could have not cared less because really, why on earth would she have. They sat down on the seats in front of her and immediately she smelled the alcohol oozing out of their pours; the pungent odour did not exactly make her feel sick but she wasn't pleased about it either. Yet O felt it would have been rude of her to change seats - why she felt the need to be excessively polite to these strangers she did not know - but she remained where she was. O tried to breathe through her mouth rather than her nose in the somewhat failed attempt to escape the smell which awoke memories she didn't want to think about now. The couple conversed of something rather irrelevant O didn't want to listen to but what choice did she have, they were so close and their drooping voices swirled around her head like drunk bees. So even if she didn't want to O suddenly knew a lot about the lives of these two people she would never see again, well not a lot but too much anyway,  and it occurred to O as her irritation grew that her own history would have been equally annoying for someone else to listen to even if for O it was the most relevant thing ever.

But such is life, she reckoned, and inhaled through her parted lips.

She didn't know how long she had sat in the tram when she finally decided to get off. O noticed it had turned dark outside so it must had been a good while; judging by the tension she felt in her shoulders and back due to clutching the bag on her lap O guessed the amount of hours to be at least three. She straightened her back, slowly and carefully, and stood up, moving towards the door with caution so as not to fall on her back like a beetle and embarrass herself. There was only few people in the carriage now and none of them paid particular attention to her. When the carriage came into a stop she pushed the button and stepped out with haste, like she would have not just voluntarily spent hours in the very same vehicle. 

But this was exactly how she was; and by now she had learnt to live with it. Most of the time. 

The fresh, cool night air hit her like an open palm to the face, bringing her back into this reality that was not the same at all as in the tram. She stood there for a while, on the street, and reconstructed herself like she had once seen in a film a robot from the future do; all the little pieces of O that had wandered off during the lengthy ride crawled back and she was able to recreate herself again. Certain parts, faulty parts, she hid; certain parts she placed on the outside so that they would catch the attention of any observer the first. They didn't really fit any more, at least not in the same way they had used to, and maybe they were a bit worn out too; but that is where O put them anyway because she knew no other way to make herself.

When she eventually felt ready O looked around to see where she was and how she would get home from there; and yes indeed it had been a great night with friends and maybe they would get together again soon.

vous êtes ici

i've been back in paris for a week now and it does feel like being back home. i find this quite interesting given the fact that i've only lived here for four months; and that four months have gone by very quickly. i don't know if i am just so eager to attach myself anywhere but finland or if paris just sits well with me - either way, i am happy to be back.

and this doesn't ofcourse mean that everything would be perfect. it doesn't mean that it's all fun and games or that i wouldn't get sad or confused or angry; it doesn't mean that i would know what i am doing or even what i want.

and that is fine, really, because i wouldn't expect it to be any other way.

but the things i do know - that it is such an inspiring environment here, that i like my coffee black now, that i can find things i'm proper excited about, that i want to learn the language, that i again have the need and want to do something of my own - these things are enough for me to know that this is a good place to be right now.