Writing

Day 9. 21 km. Midnight. A car that passed five times. And the man who held his own wake, smiling.

Day 8. First day of week 2. 21 km — 17 regular + 4 to close the debt. Tonight I just want to sleep.

Week 1 is done. Planned 119 km. Ran 93.4 km. Owed: 25.60 km — carried into week 2.

Day 7. 20.10 km. The ankle is still injured — but I run anyway.

Day 6. 22.20 km in 3h25. At the finish line, I can't walk. The ankle gives out completely — and for the first time, I start wondering if the problem isn't the distance. It's how I run.

Day 5. The left ankle won't let me run. I don't move a single mile. The project continues — the body decides the pace today.

Day 4. The left ankle is still bad. The knee starts talking. I run anyway — 17.10 miles — and finish.

Day 3. The left ankle is worse than yesterday. I face a choice: push through and force my body to bear the unbearable, or spend the day treating the injury so it doesn't compromise the whole project.

Day 2. My body is completely stiff. A building catches fire in front of the park. My father and I finish the last 7km running around the block near his house — until I take off my running shoe and finish without it. And I think about the day I saw the word 'cancer' on his medical chart.

Day 1. 17km. 3 hours and 10 minutes. I walked the whole thing — and I keep thinking about my cousin, who died at 26 from prostate cancer. On my birthday.