what i think about when i run

I ran 20 laps today.

And like always, I was accompanied by my incredulously retarded sililoques while I run.
Inspired by Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief, which was set in Nazi Germany, I pretended to be a Jew.
A Jew, on the run from the grasps of the zealous Anti-Semites.

Yes, I know.
It’s ridiculous.
but it worked. for a while.

Then, I realized that I wasn’t being chased due to my non-comformity with the Aryan race.
In fact, it was the sinful nutella coated muffins I had after lunch that was doing all the chasing.

Ironically, I was sure that the monstrosity that had me running for my life, was in fact fueling my muscles with energy.

All these got me through 10 laps.
I was only half way there.
the pain was setting in.
my feet amplified the painful reverberations of my feet hitting the paved route.

paradoxically, my inner monologue comprised the following: ‘don’t think, just run. don’t think fucker, just fucking run.’

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