Last evening, on the metro, a young woman in her twenties furiously tapped messages on her phone. In between texts, she kept checking her Instagram, liking nearly every post, seemingly registering nothing. Except fitness posts.
She spent more time on these, reading each carefully, even looking at some videos again.
Her lithe arms were bare, tattooed, veins criss crossing this way and that. Perhaps she was a gym trainer. Maybe she was a spin instructor. Or just into fitness.
On this second day of rest after the half, I’m just looking forward to hitting the track and my home gym soon.
Writing about Running 