I’ve seen them many times and I bet you have
too. Although they pass silently and quickly, I’m sure you have laid your eyes
on them for a second. You have probably noticed their presence all around the
city. No matter if it rains or snows, if it is cold or hot, if it is dark or if
the sun is shining. You can see them anywhere at anytime. Not only can you see
them alone, but you can see them in couples and in groups. They are of both
sexes, and they are between five and ninety-five years old, of any race and
social class. They go through the streets, the parks, the mountains and the
beaches. Sometimes they go slow, and sometimes as fast as they can, usually saying
hello to others they meet on their way, though they don’t know each other’s
names, because they recognise them as colleagues. Sometimes they take over the
streets for hours and people cheer them on and applaud. They don’t try to beat
anybody else but themselves. They compete with their own times, looking at
their watches to check their pace.
The day before a race they prepare their
clothes and shoes, feeling as joyful as children the day before Christmas. The
night before, they dream about the race, and visualize themselves running
through a route in the sky among the clouds.
They don’t mind waking up early, or being the last at the finish line.
They encourage the other runners, even if they are so tired that they can’t
speak, with a smile or a clap. And when they arrive at the end of the race they
raise their arms proudly and think “I did it”. Then they check their watches
for the last time. They go back home happily thinking that, although they have
done a great job, they could have done it better and make up silly excuses. The
day after, they can’t help smiling when they feel the stiffness, the product of
a great effort. They check the official results, and look for the pictures of
the race on the Internet. They spend the whole day remembering the starting
line, the hill, the guy that overtook them, the finish line…almost like an
obsession.
Wildcat
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