Straight from the pen: Marcel
I sit and stare thoughtfully. I've been asked to submit my blog on time and to be quite honest, I don't feel like writing about something as trivial as cutting down on drinking at the moment. In fact; I wouldn't know what to talk about. Shall I instead write about the morons who trudged through the hardware store this week? Looking for materials to build pens for the piles of toilet paper they'd hoarded the week before? Or to wood for a do-it-yourself coffin?
Am I telling you about those men of a certain age and a certain weight on mountain bikes who, with the gaze of mad Japanese kamikaze pilots, tried to drive me the imaginary folds out of my running tights, while I was just desperately trying to keep my distance? Am I boring you for the umpteenth time with my stories about a training schedule where the load is approaching its peak, while I know that my run in May will probably not go on after all? I doubt because while I pass, people are fighting for their lives. I drink spa red with apple juice while public life has come to a standstill, and I think zero point zeros are a bit of a problem these days, but I only drink them because no one wants, dares and is allowed to come near me. What is it all about in the end?
Then I realize that writing for IkPas is voluntary, but that voluntary does not mean without obligation. And I also made a mistake this week, so it would be a bit silly not to share this with you, while my success stories (look at me cool alcohol-free) did find their way to my blog. So naked with those buttocks.
After my walk in the Grenspark last Sunday, I came back to my car. Enjoyed the round, but also confused. On the way almost eaten by a set of dentures on legs of which the owner in a tracksuit looked indifferently the other way, amazed by the behavior of the XXL Sweet Milks who tried to infect and/or liquidate me, and dismayed by everything that had happened this week . Everything felt so unreal and eerie and when you spend hours alone carrying your mother's soul through the woods, the lotto balls in your head gradually roll back into place. Walking works like a catalyst for me; impressions are processed and arranged and if the plate lingers for a while I just make the circle a little longer. It is therefore not surprising that during this period I run one or two marathon-plus distances every week.
The car was faithfully waiting for me and as I opened the trunk I remembered that I still had a step in the back of Hertogjes. An emergency ration shall we say, and very welcome now that my regular stopping place has closed its doors. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the sun with a noble fellow who had remained cold in my fist. I was clearly emotional, but nevertheless I enjoyed the moment. Recent events have also hit me hard. The uncertainty, the lack of clarity and the realization that this could just be the last time I was here for a while. The sun warmed my body and my peace of mind and as I drove home I realized I had missed this.
When I got home I splashed in the jacuzzi and stayed put until I had become a shriveled little man (I was old already). In between I replaced my abused emptied Hertogjes a few times with a fresh family member, but otherwise I limited myself to the moment, and I was busy with that. Although this was not planned, I decided to give in anyway. It took a while.
That night I slept more restless and less than usual with the result that I had a drowsy head on Monday morning. A feeling from another era, but I still recognized it. But this day also passed and when I sat red with apple juice at the spa on Monday evening without murmuring, I realized with satisfaction that I had won another victory over myself. Times of uncertainty and sadness sometimes call for a little splurge, and whether you find comfort in a piece of cake, an impulse purchase or a drink is irrelevant. Enjoy it, deal with the consequences and continue where you left off and above all don't be too hard on yourself because in the end nothing human is foreign to us.