Autor: Anca

Ma dor picioarele putin, fata mi-e inca rosie si imi aduc aminte cum pe la sfarsitul celor patru kilometri si jumatate afisati pe ecranul pistei de alergare pe care fug, aproape am ramas fara suflare. Dupa aceea insa m-am simtit calma, echilibrata si chiar bucuroasa. Simt ca pot sa iau viata asa cum e si sa ma ridic deasupra ei ca un vultur puternic.

Nu stiu de ce cand eram mai tanara uram fugitul. Masa de oameni care se straduiau sa-si pastreze ritmul alergarii intr-un maraton nu m-a inspirat niciodata, din contra ma simteam coplesita de efortul mare pe care il faceau din motive aparent fragile. Obisnuiam sa mut repede canalul de la TV pe alt post, nevrand sa mai vad nici un moment acele fete obosite indreptandu-se catre linia de sosire.

Anul trecut, unul dintre oamenii pe care ii respect foarte mult, Simon, unchiul meu din Marea Britanie, mi-a povestit cum a participat pentru prima data in viata lui la un maraton. S-a antrenat cinci luni pentru asta - trecand peste obstacole pe care nimeni nu va fi in stare sa le intelega cu adevarat, dar a reusit intr-un sfarsit sa termine legendara cursa de 42km. Anul trecut in Paris, anul acesta, la Chicago, si din cate spune, cred ca o va face din nou.

Ma impresioneaza tot timpul cand citesc povestea perseverentei lui incapatanate de a invinge. Si chiar a invins.Nu cred ca voi participa vreodata la un maraton. Nu am inceput sa fug punandu-mi teluri atat de inalte. Am inceput pentru ca Radu, sotul meu face asta si am vrut sa il sustin in acest fel. Acum insa, dupa a saptea oara la sala de fitness, imi dau seama ca e ceva ce corpului meu i-a lipsit foarte mult. Nu cred ca fug acum din cauza ambitiei provocate de cineva drag din familie sau pentru ca Radu are nevoie de sustinerea mea; fug pentru ca am nevoie. Fiecare celula din corpul meu repeta pledoaria pentru miscare, mi-o striga chiar in fiecare zi. Ar fi chiar bine sa le ascult. Consecinta e o rasplata.

[...] (English)
Plea for motion

My legs hurt a little, the redness in my face is still there and I remember how by the end of the four kilometers and a half showed by the computer of the running track I use, I almost got out of breath. But afterwards I feel calm, balanced even glad. I feel I can take life as it is and soar above it like a strong eagle.

I don't know why when I was younger I hated running. The mass of people striving to keep up the pace in a marathon never inspired me, on the contrary I felt overwhelmed by the huge effort they were taking apparently with no sound reason. I always used to switch to something else quickly, unwilling even for a moment to see more of the tired, almost pained faces progressing to a finish line.

And then, last year, one of the people I think very high of, Simon, my uncle from England, tells me how he participated for the first time in his life in a marathon. He trained 5 months for it – going through obstacles none will ever be able to fully understand but succeding in the end to complete the legendary 42 km run. Last year it was in Paris, this year he did it again in Chicago and from what he says I take it that he would want to do it again. I always am impressed when I read his story of his stubborn perseverence to succeed. And succeed he did.

I don't think I will ever participate as a runner in a marathon. I didn't start my running aiming that high. I started it because Radu, my husband is doing it and I wanted in a way to support him continue. But, now, after the 7th time at the gym, I realize that it is something my body missed so much. I think I am not running now because of the ambition growing within inspired by someone dear from my family who made it through two marathons or because Radu needs my support; I am running (even if so little) because I need it. There's a plea for motion in every cell of my body and they cry it out to me everyday. I better start listening. Reward follows.