Thoughts while running at sunset ... The days are shorter.
are just after seven in the evening and the sun is at sunset.
Today was a beautiful early autumn day, a light breeze blew all day the sky from the clouds and haze, the horizon is clear as we are allowed a few times here in Po Valley.
You can see the Alps, rare. And then suddenly you think that Italy is not that great, but it certainly beautiful.
I'm doing my dear and usually jogging circuit. Eight km on a paved road that winds gently through fields, houses and a few modest patch of forest wild acacias. E 'at least sixteen years that I do this route, and as a comforting time bubble in recent years, few things have changed. There are corners of the suburbs that have changed radically in a matter of months: homes, parks, apartment buildings, parking lots ... In this area ... no.
Maybe that's why I always do this route. I change, I realize, but what is around me always. It gives me peace.
The air is chilly, with temperatures quite pleasant: it is autumn, but politely of course, this year. But that first evening I go out with the lightweight sweatshirt.
As usual I have my MP3, but do not listen to my usual radio station, for once I listen to music. Totally out of rhythm with the cadence of my breath and movement of my legs, but I have to give rhythm to my mind, not my pace. Never been hysterical disco songs for "pump" but even classical music. Listening with great ease of "light music". First horizon hills are purple. What a wonderful visual effect when the sun sets and the air temperature change, which transforms all frequencies of light to our eyes on those who have nothing to do nothing to do with reality. The mountains and violets blue, clear, can you see the lights of small villages that first timid peep about them. To better tackle the sun ignites the air of a beautiful orange-red over the whole horizon. No cloud. The rest of the sky is darkening, going from orange to dark blue, passing through all the intermediate color harmonies, no LCD screen that can only ever hope to reproduce the half. Red sky at night, good weather hopefully. I do not know if tomorrow will be nice, but it is now spectacular.
Jason Mraz with his "I am Yours" is to marry his callow voice with the scenario that appears before me.
At this hour on this road there are practically no car. Is it just me.
Strange.
During the week, meeting various characters who, like me, seeking comfort, anti-stress and "calorie-trimming" of the race.
Most are young, some younger than me.
We say goodbye forever. A glance, a smile, a raised hand. There is a super guy
tan, even in winter, with two shoulders like a bull, which runs under the weight of his muscles. And the one who smiles at me with more sympathy. Ipod arm.
Then there's a guy who runs as if he had tied a plank to surf in the back: straight! He also mentions
always a smile and a hand. A little 'less though: you see that's hard. It always leaves behind a trail of appalling aftershave. Perfume before you go running? This style is ... Ipod in my pocket.
Then there is "crazy." A woman, petite, lean, running like a rocket. Always. I've seen at all times, maybe I came home to the streets in cars after a day of incredible work at nine in the evening ... and she runs.
Sunday morning at 11. Corre. At 13, lunch break ... RUNS!
Looking down, it makes hard face, chiseled physique in the legs and neck nokia/mp3 phone, and NEVER greets. For she is a divine mission to run a bit 'like Forrest Gump, I estimate.
I tried once to Starla behind: impossible.
Then there's the gentleman with the mustache and white hair slicked who does not run: it has a set of military gear, fast enough. Shorts and T-shirt as a player easily, without writing. But he is always there. He always greeted with a friendly "good evening" out loud. No Ipod.
And finally there is the almost 50 years old who does not surrender at the time. Perpetually shirtless, showing muscle tone next to the chicken breast fat, rebellious hair dyed and Rayban blacks. He runs with a constant grin through gritted teeth stress and emits sounds like "hizz! Hizz! Hizz you" when you exhale. Can not healthy: it is too busy to take control the pain of angina pectoris
... But tonight I do not see not even one of these characters.
yet ... and yet there is something that bothers me. It is not a car that is coming from behind (by now I've learned to perceive them, rather than hear).
I take off my headset. And after a few seconds, I understand.
It 's a rhythmic sound of feet behind me.
The sound increases, and the corner of my eye I see it.
It 's a blonde girl. Blonde. Never seen before.
E 'dressed in black, her hair gathered in a queue botched, and the profile is beautiful.
His pace is well measured, and the physical we understand that sport is always, or eats very little. But
expresses energy in every step.
support me, and I, of course, form the pace to be slightly faster, lengthen your stride. Stains, it is always on the side.
might as well set to the same rhythm.
you do not have headphones, and just runs, without breathing from the mouth, but it sounds delicate nostrils.
He turns and smiles at me.
perfect teeth, as if they were rendered with Autocad, and perhaps is the imagination, but I see a diamond on an upper incisor. Maybe.
The face is sharp, her cheeks slightly pulled while she smiles and dimples are created under the dark eyes smiling too. Only a small mole between his eyebrows and the top of the nose, breaking a perfect symmetry of her face. And 'that model of beauty that we often see on television. But that makes us
next to me?
For a few hundred meters run side by side, and the sound of his shoes is out of sync with mine. I appreciate that it is high (or low, depending on your point of view), like me, then the stride is. We
synchronized.
I, you and this beautiful sunset.
Jason Mraz I silenced for a while ', I suggest to avoid inappropriate behavior to the situation. This is not the scenario to be bold. And what sense would it?
Time stops.
The road reaches a crossroads.
I usually shoot straight, to make the ring for eight miles. If I take the detour becomes a twelve miles.
What do you do?
few tens of meters before she moves to the crossroads. Needless to follow.
before finally off the main road turns and smiles at me and makes me a salute with his hand. It 's a sincere greeting, wanted.
I follow her with his eyes momentarily, and I feel like something vaguely melancholy. I look forward again: I have my way to go, my circuit.
Instinctively I turn back to the fork and she disappeared. Unavailable to the eye.
me have imagined?
life I laugh and I get back to MP3 earphones, and Zucchero Fornaciari me singing in the ears that we live in a "Wonderful Life".
adjusts the pace and try to breathe in a more synchronized with the stride. Watching the clock: I'll be home in twelve minutes.
The red horizon is gone, the first peep into the sky a couple of planets and stars and the moon is rising. Perhaps
Sugar is indeed right.
