My recent lack of exercise has been so apparent that my dad asked me to go down and run.
Reluctance. But one simply cannot ignore the layers and layers of fats slowly but surely building on.
So I went down. And started running.
Well not really running. More of jogging. Slow jogging.
You should have seen this other guy who literally had sweat dripping off him as he ran.
Back to main point. Once I got past 2km, I couldn't stop.
I had expected to run 2.4km at most, but I just kept running.
My legs were doing the same motion over and over again, to the point I wasn't even aware of it.
I let my mind wander; thought about things that happened today; thought about things that are going to happen; thought about the perks, which I had just begun reading.
I was trying to remember too. How nice the breeze felt; the feeling of muscles getting toned up; the stability and determination of each step.
In the end my dad had to plant himself in my way before I started on yet another round.
I think we were both shocked at how long and far I had run.
But I think its just because the pace was so slow.