Weekend blues

Union Square Market
this Saturday morning ...

* * * * *
Running is not my thing. Even though it's Marathon weekend I find it hard to get excited about watching sweaty people running the streets of New York in a hope of some sort of psychological pleasure - the one that is foreign to me in this shape and form.
I do not run to catch the bus, I do not run to be the first one on line and I do not run for pleasure. I don't get sweaty unless I am rewarded by the highest feeling of contentment! (e.x.: sauna ;o) . . .
Therefore, I walk!
I take life slowly, enjoying every single step at the time, watching the masses as they squeeze into the crammed subway car unable to wait for another train, as they impatiently honk the horn in a failing attempt to move traffic or wave to a waiter for the food that is a minute too late.
It seems that in New York (and not only here) everyone is running their private marathon against time.

Watching the TV today, I saw a lady from England running the Marathon, who told the reporter that she had breast cancer 14 years ago. With my undivided attention I was glued to the TV set as her lips moved and my mind played the happy end to her story from the second it caught my interest ...

" The cancer spread to my bones and I will probably die soon. I am running to raise money to find a cure for other people. I do not have too long to live .. "

All this with a smirk on her face and a strange coldness .... FACTS ...
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.
.

F
A
C
T
S
.
.
.

This wasn't supposed to end this way!
What happened to my inspirational story for a day?

I tasted salt in my mouth and wetness on my cheeks as the first tears in about three weeks rolled down my face.

Wasn't I told? Didn't I read that 5 years post-cancer one may consider themselves cured? She is dying and she is running!
LIFE = NO GUARANTEES!

Maybe I should run too?!
Maybe I should pick up the pace and make a mad dash for life.
The life that I though I have been enjoying fully already, but, but, but
.... I never ran ...
I could wake up in the morning, run downstairs to the gym, have a quick exercise on the treadmill (or maybe hop over to the Central Park - it's only a few blocks away), put on my high-heels and sprint off to the office, jog to lunch, dash over to the doctor's office to swiftly summarize my fears, concerns and phobias regarding what else but cancer; scurry home and cook up a microwave meal in 5 minutes, make a quick call and call it a day?
.
.
.
And maybe I should not run!
Maybe I should carry on taking those slow steps towards each day as I watch the world go by!

Breeeaaatthhh In, Breaaaaaaaaaaaaath Out!

Maybe I should wake up as I have been - late, comfortable, stretching every minute in a bed, spoiling myself with the warmth of the duvet covers; make my oatmeal on a stove, not in a microwave - because it tastes better this way; stroll past all the doormen on Park Avenue who know me by the walk and say hello with the biggest smile; maybe I should plan my perfect lunch with Oli at 9 am and get excited about taking a walk to the steps of the Metropolitan Museum, eating on a bench right in front of this magnificent building while staring at tourists with xtra zoom Japanese cameras; maybe I should keep taking loooong time at the doctor's office ignoring her beeper that calls for the conversation's end, go off track from my fears to what I will do next summer when I can eventually travel and make plans to have a wedding, babies in the future, take salsa classes and go to a club and shake my boobs like never before; maybe I'll come home and cook a magnificent three course meal instead of pasta with tomato sauce from a bottle and make million phone calls as I please ....
Maybe I shouldn't change anything I have done so far ...

I didn't ask for it, I didn't want it, I didn't cause it!

I shouldn't run!

Breaaaaaaaaaaaaaaath in, breaaaaaaaaaaaaath out!