There was a lot of talk on the weather.  It were as if we live in the middle of an ocean rather than on terra firma.  Rather strangely, the talk about the prospect of strong winds eclipsed that of raining.  For a few days we were like fishermen.

On Friday it howled and howled like a wolf.  I felt like a sheep.

On Saturday, it rained.

On Sunday, the tree in front of me was swaying to the current of the wind.  And of all places, the race was at Ta’ Qali, which for the uninitiated, it is a barren piece of land where shelter is to it what sun is to Scandinavia in winter.

But then we met.  All in the blue colours of Mellieha AC.  We warmed up and as is usually the case, reality proved much better than our assumptions. 

Part of me told me to adjust my expectations.  The other, to just focus and let go.

Admittedly taking off my sweater, and finding myself in just a blue vest and shorts felt cold rather than cool.  The number was already pinned, we marched towards the starting line and 10 kilometres loomed.  The first one went well.  The second as well, and there was a procession of kilometres.

The seventh was really good, with the wind blowing in my back and the road inclined downwards.  Then came a turn and the wind came in my face.

All good things came to an end, or maybe it’s all a matter of balance.

I just put one step after the other, lifted the heel up and increased the cadence.

The wind continued to blow, I continued to move forward, the distance to the finishing line continued to decrease.  The average pace slowed down.

Then came the last kilometre.

I continued doing what I did for nine kilometres.  Then urged my body forward more.

Before knowing it, I was past a finishing line stopping my watch, realising that for the first time I covered the distance under forty-three minutes.  It felt nice.  Like someone jumping past a barrier for the first time.

Now it’s sunk in and am just excited about what to find from now onwards.

Simple things which give a big rush.