After a couple of days of eating more than I should, I ate low yesterday. Which to me meant lesser in quantity, especially for dinner. Sleeping low, an old coach friend had said to me. That’s how I came by the phrase.
Whether that was the reason, or perhaps I was too wired with work, I barely slept at Sunday night.
But sleeping low came with an advantage. At least for me. It was good to wake up hungry. To feel an empty stomach. To reckon what appetite and energy meant. Perhaps none of these in the most visceral sense – certainly not in the manner of what harsh hunger really meant – but maybe as a simple endeavour of rebooting the body. Just that ever so slightly.
Writing about Running 