Running (anglais) / 12/31/17
Running / 12/31/17
A year of running, it’s figures…
But it’s also lots of emotions.
1604.55km / 996.6miles
4011 stadium track loops or 38 marathons.
134 runs within 231 days (134 days injured)
12km/run, with an average time of 1h05
6.1days, running night and days.
Average pace 5’29/km, 10.95km/h
Calories : 113’095
That means 22,6kg of chocolate,
or 282.7 liters of beer,
or 141.36 kg of pasta (707 plates of tomato pasta, without cheese)
That means running for example :
from Amsterdam to Rome –33km (1631km) image
from Bordeaux to Berlin, via Paris and Rotterdam (1630km)
from Québec City to Chicago (1600km)
from Paris to Sevilla (1675km)
from Paris to Budapest +200km (1397km)
from London to Krakow +32km (1565km)
from Marseille to Copenhaguen –100km (1697km)
from Barcelona to Vienna –65km (1663km)
from Lausanne to Porto (1641km)
134 days of frustration and anxiety … but kilometers of pleasure, and discoveries …
The long night runs, under the falling snow, with Lionel, Stéphane and Alain, every Thursday night of winter.
Budapest, its hills, its castle and the incredible presence of the abandoned shoes on the Danube river banks.
The last 10 km of the Paris Marathon, at 5am, with the AscisFrontrunner to be the first ones to cross the finish line, and then watch the race.
The Saint-Martin canal in the sunrise, and the mirroring waters of the basin of Villette.
Bern Grand Prix with friends.
The roller coaster streets of San Francisco, then on the next day the boat trip across the bay, to run back with my lover biking, and enjoying a great runner’s, almost alone in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge, yelling and jumping like a kid.
Run in Santa Monica with my sweetheart.
The heat of Miami, the countless iguanas along the Botanical Garden, and the beach.
New York, forever magical, the pink perspectives of the Williamsburg Bridge, the hundreds of school buses on the streets of Williamsburg in the early summer vacation, and the inevitable and iconic crossing of the Brooklyn Bridge I’ll never get tired of. And the run with my sweetheart …
It’s a Friday morning in the Bois-Noir Forest, and this pain in the knee. The fear. The frustration. The surgery. Physio. Exercises and work-out alone at home. The boredom (and the painful ass) of the exercise bike. Frustration. Impatience. Days. The weeks, that pass.
The patience of my lover.
The first run in the rain, in the wind and the cold of November, crying and sobbing like a kid, and yelling “I am back, I am f *** back…”
Edinburgh Castle all orange in the rising sun, only for me.
The seaside in Funchal Madeira Island, and the few shy strides on the beautiful Ponta de Sao Lourenco, a trailer’s dream.
And hundreds of kilometers alone, in streets that are too familiar to me, in forests, along the river, along the lake, along the chemical plant or the railway, the same bridges, the passing seasons, the dog barking behind the hedge.
It’s also kilometers shared with friends, with Stéphane, Cécile, Jérôme,
And the beautiful kilometers I shared with Silvia my sweetheart, in Paris, Los Angeles, Miami or New York, that I will never forget.
All these kilometers, it is fighting against the cold or the heat, following the will or overcoming the laziness, it is crawling when the legs are heavy, it is flying when the feet become wings, it is blowing, and suffering, it is hating, it is loving, it is singing, it is crying, it is laughing … It is loving, it is living… It is magic…